


Cauda Pavonis

by Queerapika



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Clairvoyance, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Menstruation, Minor Character Death, body swap/possession shenanigans, hxhbb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-06-10 17:56:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 71,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6967303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queerapika/pseuds/Queerapika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreamseer AU: As if life isn't hard enough for a cop, Leorio has bad luck. Or maybe he is bad luck, he doesn't know for sure. Leorio has rules, too, things he does not dare to touch or else disaster might strike. He avoids anything magical. Or attractive guys. Sadly, his neighbor is both of these things, which would still be fine if it weren't for the fact that Kurapika works as a consultant for the police. Soon they share a work space, a living space and increasing romantic tension as they try to break a curse and find missing children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nigredo

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains excerpts of Goethe’s ballad ‘Der Erlkönig’. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Der_Erlk%C3%B6nig)  
> You can find them in part 3. And while it’s not necessary to know the ballad in order to understand the fic, I thought you might want to check it out beforehand if you’re curious. ;)  
> A huge thank you goes out to Bel, Nico and Gina (princethestripper, intrepidescapist and painpackerrisingsun on tumblr, respectively) for their over-and insight, their help and support while editing this huge project.

_Are you drifting way beyond what's normal_  
_'Cause round your mind rings the words_  
_That they would say_  
_When you go home everything looks different_  
_And you're scared of being left behind_

Bastille, _The Draw_

 

**1**

 

Leorio was bad luck and didn't he know it.

As the smoke burned in his lungs and the flames licked up the windowsill of good old Miss Krueger's apartment he wondered if somehow this was his fault too. Maybe in a few days when the source of the fire had been found, it would turn out to be one of the cigarettes he had lent her, or perhaps a faulty power outlet set into the wall that divided their apartments. His life was funny like that. Things turned sour in his hands, everything bad somehow traced back to him.

But this was not the right moment to wallow in self-pity; the descent over the fire escape would be a slow one, with the weight of a life in his arms and bare feet on cold iron bars.

Leorio had put on slippers when the alarm went off, but had lost them in Kurapika's apartment. He still had his most important items with him, though: his keys, his wallet, and his phone, all of them thrown carelessly into Kurapika's canvas cat carrier. He had thrown in Kurapika's cat – Pairo – too, a little more gently.

But it was Kurapika he had picked up most gently, Kurapika whom he had found lying on the floor in a state that was neither sleeping nor unconscious.

The fire crackled and popped and sizzled, louder and louder it roared. Smoke rolled in waves over the ceiling of the entire floor. The wind howled; it fed the flames, it bit at Leorio's exposed limbs and tore at his clothes as if it meant to steal Kurapika from him.

Leorio bared his teeth and took one step in front of the other until the stairs blurred before his eyes. They stretched down endlessly; there was always another flight of stairs after the one he had just passed, and he did not dare to look up and check how far he had gotten or how quickly the fire had eaten through the building.

Down, down, down. Until his soles went numb and his arms burned.

Down, where the shadows obscured the ground from his view.

Down, where he could call for help.

Leorio almost didn't make it.

He could feel Kurapika slipping. Leorio needed to sit down so he could change his hold; and that was his first mistake. As soon as he offered the tiniest bit of rest, his whole body started to tremble.

He felt unable to get up again. But he had to.

Seeking comfort, seeking warmth, he pulled Kurapika's body closer and rested the bright blond head gently on his shoulder.

“I don't know if you can hear me,” Leorio said, “but if you wanna wake up at some point, now would be perfect.”

Kurapika's breath hit Leorio's neck, steady but weak.

“Or send help? From wherever you are? It is kind of your fault we're in this mess, you know.”

He had not planned to check on his neighbor. Hell, he wouldn’t even have been able to get into the apartment, but the key had been in the lock. And now that Leorio was shaking and his teeth started to chatter, he wondered why. It did not seem like a mistake that Kurapika would make.

The fire escape vibrated under the weight of more footsteps.

Through the steel lattice, Leorio could see a firefighter coming up to get them.

“Mister, are you alright?” the man yelled as he approached, as if Leorio was not sitting out there in nothing but his underwear and a t-shirt. But it was not his own health that he was concerned with the most.

“He's magic,” Leorio replied as soon as he had the man's full attention. It sounded so absurd, even to himself. The face behind the visor underwent no change; there was no recognition, no understanding, so Leorio had to repeat himself. And then the words started spilling from his lips like tears. “He's magic. A dreamseer. He was in a trance when I found him and I tried to end the ritual the proper way, but I couldn't really remember how. It's been ages since we had a briefing on that and I think–I think I fucked it up because he's just not waking up, so I carried him, but I can't. I can't anymore.”

“Okay. That's... it's going to be fine, don't worry, I'm sure you did all you can. I will carry your friend for you, but more importantly: are you okay? Can you walk on your own?”

The firefighter reached for Kurapika and for a moment, Leorio found it impossible to let go.

The decision had something so utterly final about it. If he let it happen, the matter would be completely out of his hands. His eyes fell to Kurapika's lifeless form, the neat red shirt he was wearing. Kurapika always looked so prim and proper, even when he was just lounging around his apartment, even on laundry days. His hands were so very unlike Leorio's, with slender, agile fingers, the cleanest cuticles and neatly trimmed nails. Not a single scar or bruise marred the bronze of his skin, as if all he ever used them for was gesturing, reading, and slipping yarn through them.

(Kurapika _had_ scars, whole white mazes of them, but they were hidden where no stranger could see them.)

Those very hands were wound tightly around the ugliest love-worn plush monkey Leorio had ever seen. And Leorio had seen this monkey often in the last few weeks, just like the rest of the country. It had been all over the news.

“I can walk,” Leorio said finally.

 

**2**

 

The light in the ambulance hurt Leorio's eyes, but the medics gave him two blankets and a hot drink and after a while, he stopped shivering like a miserable dog. One of them – he introduced himself as Knuckle – even brought a few warm towels for the kitty because Pairo had to stay outside. And while Knuckle's bald colleague took Kurapika's pulse and measured his blood pressure, Knuckle returned with Leorio's few saved belongings. They had been scavenged from the cat carrier without so much as a scratch, neither on the leather of the wallet nor on Knuckle's hands. Leorio was pretty sure that Knuckle was magic too, until he confessed right away that he was only assigned to look after Leorio's 'dreamy little friend' because his roommate was a dreamseer as well. Somehow, that made Knuckle the closest thing to the expert on anything magic that Leorio had hoped for.

At least he referred to magic people as alchemists, like everyone involved with this mystic science did and he asked legitimate questions about the chalk drawings that Kurapika had been found with while simultaneously checking Kurapika's nails for cyanosis. All in all, he made a pretty competent impression. He could have looked more competent if he didn't style his hair like John Travolta in Grease, but that was none of Leorio's business.

“You said you poured the water last,” Knuckle said. “Where did you pour it?”

“On the floor,”

“Okay, but _where_?”

“There is a wrong way to pour water on the floor?” Leorio knew that it was an absolute taboo to splash it in the sleeper's face but aside from that, it was news to him that the location made a difference.

“Generally no, unless it washes over the inner circle.”

“There was no circle. Just the square and the bowls.”

Knuckle took a step back from the stretcher and came to kneel before Leorio. He picked up one of the square, rough hands and clucked his tongue at what he saw. Leorio's nails were healthy and pink – pink as the irritated dry skin around his knuckles which had begun to crack and bleed again. “You need to use some lotion, man. And there's always a circle, trust me. My roommate designs them. Those clairvoyants, they're all about circles, they make a real fuss about them. Which makes sense, I s'ppose, because they're pretty much their lifelines. Is your friend a professional?”

Leorio frowned. “Professional what?”

“Clairvoyant. Dreamseer. Like, how often does he wander off?”

“I don't– I have no idea, we're not that close.” They could have been. Not that it mattered now. Or maybe it did matter. Leorio tried to think of as many occasions as possible in which they had touched, accidentally and not-so-accidentally.

Leorio and magical people didn't get along. He could not touch them because when he did, he _changed_ them. Something about him corrupted their powers. If he had known about Kurapika... to think he might have fucked him up all along...

Knuckle kept chattering on, oblivious to his patient's gloomy mood: “The thing about alchemical circles is that they're a bitch to draw. The clairvoyant ones are some of the most complicated because they contain a lot of information – they need to because they basically help the clairvoyants get back into their own bodies – so it takes so much time to draw them accurately that most don't bother with it. They have mosaics of them at their workplace or get them tattooed on their skin, which also prevents that someone accidentally messes them up when they're in the middle of a session. So, chances are your friend is fine. Right, Hanzo?”

The other medic ran a hand over his scalp in thought. “Well, his vitals are okay and it looks like he just got into a REM phase. Can I move him into the lateral position or is that going to wake him up?”

“It shouldn't – not like anybody's home in that body at the moment. You know, yeah, we better move him, they tend to throw up when they come back.”

So they busied themselves with rearranging Kurapika's limbs, and turned his body to the side. Leorio resisted the urge to reach out and rest his hands on Kurapika's back. Kurapika was not frail, far from it, but he was so _small_ and Leorio wanted to give some of the comfort he himself craved so much.

A third medic showed up, knocked on the open ambulance door to get the attention of his colleagues and asked, “There’s someone from the police here, looking for somebody. Did any of you call them?”

“No?” Hanzo replied.

“I'm police,” Leorio answered groggily. Then realized that this statement didn't make much sense without context. “My emergency contact is my partner.” And _then_ Leorio realized that Zepile had only been called up ten minutes ago and there was no way he could have arrived already. So who–

“Are you Mister Kurta?”

“I'm not.” He had to talk around the uneasy lump that was shaping in his throat and his eyes were drawn back to Kurapika. “But he is.”

 

**3**

 

The moon hung fat and bright in the sky, its pockmarked face half-hidden by a pillar of smoke – an ill omen, but not a surprising one.

_Open a door when you leave through the window,_ Nanika had told Kurapika before he left the temple, _or the red, hungry one will get you._

Her prophecies were cryptic, but within three days they always came true. So when Kurapika rose up on the roofs of his town, he already knew where to look for the source of the fire. Truth be told, all he needed to do was to follow the spirits who were drawn to the abundance of emotion that disaster spawned.

 

**4**

 

Facing your boss was a critical thing on good days. But facing your boss on the street when you were anxious and confused, dressed only in boxers and a T-shirt – that was an absolute nightmare. Leorio had tucked one of his blankets around his hips to appear a little more decent while the other was still thrown around his shoulders. The whole ordeal looked somewhat like a very poor Christian monk costume. It was not one of his most glorious or impressive moments.

Meanwhile Captain Mizaistom Nana seemed well-rested and put together in his impeccable dark gray suit and woolen coat. As if the scales of power hadn't been tipped in his favor enough.

“Detective,” Captain Nana began, in a generous, grandfatherly tone. He was a good man, well-respected and trusted thanks to his gentle demeanor. But that made it harder to gauge when he was getting fed up with the antics of his subordinates – Leorio wouldn't be the first one to overstep his boundaries and not notice until the consequences blew up in his face. That was why he needed to keep this conversation short and the opportunities to say the wrong thing sparse.

“Captain. May I ask what you want from my neighbor? And where you intend to take him?”

“I'm afraid that's confidential.”

Great. Of course. “That means I can't come with you, huh?” Leorio asked although he knew that he was picking a battle already lost.

“That’s what it means, indeed” Captain Nana said.

“But you're not going to wheel him off right now, are you? You're going to at least wait until he's woken up?”

“Of course I am–” The hint of a frown crept over his gentle features. “Wait. What is this about?”

“Can I talk to him first? There's something he needs to know. It's really important.”

The Captain froze.

 

_‘I don't want to talk to him’,_ Kurapika said. Kurapika thought. Thinking and speaking were one for the mind when it traveled through the astral layer, so interaction with others proved difficult. The membrane, which separated the complicated nature of the world from the plane of existence where the spirits lived, transferred energy in one direction only: from the humans to the spirits. And not every kind of energy came through unfiltered. That was why, if you looked at it from the astral layer, the human world appeared gray. All but auras, of course, should they be strong enough to flow outside the limitations of one's body.

Sound traveled through also, but in order to make himself heard from the other side, Kurapika needed to hold onto Mizaistom tightly and even push a little into him. The sensation was not pleasant for the body, and Mizaistom's orange-golden aura began to flicker where Kurapika clung to his arm.

_‘I don't want him to see me when I’ve just woken up. Please.'_

Mizaistom bared his teeth in displeasure. “I'm afraid I can't let that happen.”

“But–” Leorio began. His blankets slipped and he failed to catch the one that was wound around his legs like a skirt. He didn't bother picking it up. Typical Leorio. Unfortunate, graceless, ridiculous Leorio. Adorable, too. He was wearing his stupid Spongebob boxers, Kurapika noticed with more fondness than he wanted to admit.

Mizaistom grew increasingly uncomfortable; the connection that allowed Kurapika to communicate transmitted more than just thoughts. Impressions slipped through just as easily; raw emotion, sometimes images.

Kurapika let go, for Mizaistom's sake. But he refused to feel embarrassed about this.

And he stayed close. The last few minutes of a session were always devoted to checking on Leorio. (Some might call it stalking, but Kurapika preferred the term 'gardening'. Keeping Leorio clean from spirits was a task as ungrateful as pulling weeds from the rich soil of a flower bed – there just was no end to it, but it had to be done.)

“Listen,” Leorio said as he stomped his leg with aplomb. Barefoot. His aura, for once, was not enshrouded and shone round and pink like a grapefruit, like a planet, drawing translucent little jellyfish-shaped spirits into its orbit. “I dragged his unconscious ass out of a burning building, that means I have a right to know if he's alright afterwards.”

Kurapika sneered as he stepped closer to his neighbor and swatted a spirit away. They were called sorrow bells, for their shape and because they fed on worry. While in theory harmless, they would sometimes settle down on a human and bloom to reproduce, causing severe bouts of depression in the host, leaving them unable to go through their day-to-day routine, which in turn caused anxiety about the things left undone. A safe way to ensure a steady stream of nourishing emotions.

“Detective.” A slight graveling sneaked into Mizaistom's voice, a sign of irritation rather than anger, but Leorio would not know. Leorio shifted and drew his arms closer to his body. “I fail to see how that is any of my concern. You own a phone, you surely have ways to contact your own neighbor, and preferably when he is conscious and well-rested. I doubt that this will be the case when he wakes up and if you cannot grant him some peace now, then maybe you aren't as concerned about his well-being as you claim to be.”

The remaining spirits around Leorio began to shudder as the guilt rolled off him in waves. Kurapika caught a second sorrow bell in his palm, fed it a dose of his own frustration – he always had plenty of that to spare – and watched as it spiraled drunkenly out of control.

“I– you don't _understand_.”

_‘Why are you like this, Leorio.’_ Kurapika had never met anyone with an aura so plump, or with such attractive qualities. Leorio was a magnet; he picked up spirits like other people picked up lint and in the thirteen months that they had lived side by side, he had not yet found a clue as to why.

“What exactly do I not understand, detective? Because I feel like I have quite a firm understanding of the situation.”

“I know what you asked him to do for you, sir. I can pretend that I don't have a clue if it makes you feel any better, but you have to tell him – you have to make sure he wasn't corrupted in any way.”

_‘Corrupted? That's ridiculous, I'm not_ –’

The _draw_ kicked in, a numb pain that settled below Kurapika's shoulder blades like a hook of iron, reeling him back in. He had been wandering for far too long. There was one sorrow bell left; Kurapika made a grab for it. Confused. Upset. It burst under the weight of his emotions and covered his black fingers in milky goo.

 

Going back was always a shock; three and a half senses kicking back in at once and finding reality rewired. The air too light, his body so heavy that he could not breathe under the weight of it. His lungs ached. One of his hands was buried in soft synthetic fibers of a lost girl's stuffed animal, the other one fell numb onto a soft surface, a mattress perhaps, where he had been laid down. Kurapika kept his eyes screwed shut; he wasn't ready for all the colors yet. The smells were bad enough, creeping into his nose, cold and sterile.

Bile rose in his throat.

No matter how often he returned, he was never ready for the world. While dreaming was tiring, being awake was _exhausting_.

Someone must have seen him stir because an unfamiliar voice cheered. “You're back! How do you feel? Can you sit up? Should we get your animal?”

“No,” Kurapika croaked. It didn't sound like him. Not that he cared, he just wanted them to go away.

“No what?”

He gave no answer. He wanted to go back to sleep. He wanted a body that was a home, not this agglomeration of jittery nerves whose shape was defined by a radar of pain waves. He wanted peace and a friendly familiar face.

A blanket was draped over him and a straw was led to his mouth. Kurapika drank because he knew he had to. Lukewarm water, a hint of sweetness. Dextrose, most likely. The quickest source of energy that one could offer the body. Whoever was caring for him knew about the tolls that dreamseeing took on the body and did their damn best to keep the sensory shock for Kurapika at a minimum. They spoke in a low and assuring baritone, a little raspy – it was a nice voice, very grounding.

“Someone's here to pick you up. Don't get upset. There was a fire, but you're alright.”

“I know,” Kurapika muttered between gulps.

“Can you feel all your limbs?”

“Yes.” His right hand prickled hot and cold and would not close when he tried to, but time would take care of that. No use bringing it up.

Reluctantly, Kurapika blinked, first with his right eye, then with his left one, alternating until the bright lights didn't blind him anymore. He found himself on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance. The medic kneeling in front of him proved much more gruff-looking than his voice implied; another one hovered anxiously over Kurapika with a plastic bowl.

“You can put that away, I'm not going to be sick.” Kurapika sat up, declining any help, but the first medic insisted he kept drinking, so he took the water bottle and kept suckling on the straw with a sour expression.

The car creaked and shifted slightly under the weight of another person as Mizaistom appeared in the entrance, looking every bit a worried father.

“Hey,” he offered gently.

“Hi,” Kurapika replied.

“Are you–” Mizaistom failed to finish his sentence and that was indicative enough that Kurapika looked even worse than he felt.

“I'm good. It was a long trip.”

“I brought you socks.” He pulled them out from his overcoat's inner pockets, where another man would keep his cigarettes or wallet and Kurapika tried to picture him stuffing them in. Stuffing them in _staidly_ , like it meant business. Mizaistom treated a lot of things with more importance and care than necessary; it was one of his most endearing traits. He brought a vermilion pair, handmade with worsted weight yarn – Kurapika knew because he had _made_ these socks as a gift for his mentor, Chandni, years ago. The spells worked into them had long since worn off and they could need some darning around the toes, but that they had been treated with care all this time warmed his chest as much as his feet. If only putting them on had been less of a struggle. He hooked his stiff thumb into the roll to unfold it and of course, Mizaistom noticed immediately. “What's wrong with your hand?”

“Just a little spirit burn. Nothing serious.”

Mizaistom's body surged forward.

“Don't you even think about it. I can do this.”

“Are you sure?”

Kurapika kicked his legs free. He slipped his whole, stubborn, useless hand into a sock to widen and maneuver it around his foot. “Yes. What about shoes?”

“Still in my car. I wanted to check on you first, but then Detective Paladiknight happened.”

Kurapika paused and, without ever taking his eyes off his toes, asked: “So, where is...”

“His partner just came to pick him up. I told him I'll handle everything.”

“Ah.” He turned to the medic that had hair and the gentle baritone. “You mentioned my cat. He's safe?”

“Yes, of course. Your friend got him out. I'll get him.”

Mizaistom offered to go instead; he wanted to put Pairo in the car and return with shoes, and asked if Kurapika was free to go or if he had to stay the night in the ER. The medics assured that there was no reason for that.

Mizaistom took care of everything as he had promised to, and he worked in quiet, sensible, and effective ways. He worried just the right amounts without being insecure, without making a fuss. In other words, he was the kind of person one would want by their side when something went wrong. Kurapika told himself so. Because who would want someone flapping about like a scared chicken, handling you like a cracked teapot? Sending Leorio away had been the blatantly correct choice. He would have smothered Kurapika with his care and Kurapika would have responded with irritation and some scathing words just to make him stop.

And yet. And _yet_.

When Mizaistom returned with boots, Kurapika was in a generous enough mood to let him tie them.

 

The cold, wet morning air was saturated with charred scents and activity and the calling of bickering crows when Kurapika stepped out of the ambulance, the weight of Mizaistom's coat on his shoulders.

Firefighters roamed the streets in hurried little half-jogs but without any real haste. The most critical part of their work was done; the apartment building had stopped spitting smoke. Further across the street parked a russet Mini Clubman, owned by one Detective Ridiculous Eyebrows who was at that very moment in deep discussion with his partner. Said partner currently stepped into a pair of blue sweatpants, may the public never have to endure the sight of those Spongebob boxers again.

It was by chance that Leorio looked in Kurapika's direction that very moment.

Neither of them moved. They stood fixed like two poles, dual pairs, meant to oppose one another. One magical, the other mundane. One reserved, the other brimming with emotion. A fine web of magnetism spun between them.

Kurapika sighed. Yearned.

Maybe they had never been meant to touch.

Mizaistom's hand came to rest on his back and urged him forward.

 

“What did he mean when he said I was corrupted?” The question escaped Kurapika as soon as he had slipped into the backseat of the car, where an unhappy calico paced in the refines of its cat carrier.

Mizaistom buckled up and started the engine. “You heard that, huh. Can we postpone that conversation until tomorrow?”

Kurapika drew the coat tighter around his frame, then reached for the safety belt. “I'd rather not.”

“Kurapika, what is your relationship to Detective Paladiknight?” Mizaistom glanced over his shoulder to maneuver out of the parking space; his passenger stared coolly back at him.

“Didn't he tell you? We're neighbors.”

“Aside from that. It seemed to me... it felt like you were awfully fond of him.”

“I don't see how this is any of your business, to be honest,” Kurapika nearly hissed. Pairo _actually_ hissed. Touchy subject, then.

Mizaistom focused his attention ahead again. “You would do well to stay away from him.”

“I refuse.”

“Kurapika, he might be bad for you. As in actually bad for you health.”

If that news surprised Kurapika, he would not let it show; he raised his chin haughtily and retorted: “The same can be said for long periods of astral traveling, yet I don't hear you asking me to stop that. Quite the opposite actually.”

“Are you _blackmailing_ me?” Mizaistom laughed dryly. “You are choosing an awful moment to be selfish, you know. I'd be humored if the matter wasn't so serious.”

Kurapika pressed his palm against the cat carrier and watched as Pairo headbutted it. Minutes passed. The car ran quick and smoothly on streets that were nearly as empty as Kurapika's implied threat. Halfway to the police captain's home, he caved in. “I talked to the girl, but I was unable to figure out her location. She was cooperative until she realized that I was an intruder and, frankly, I did not get the impression that she wanted to go home. She said 'Meruem-sama' – I suppose that is one of her abductors – was very kind to her.”

_Meruem_. Not the most common name. Not a real name in all likelihood, but even a rare alias could prove a good lead. “I'm going to conduct an investigation on her family, see if there have been signs of abuse. Thank you. Anything else?”

“She's a magic user. When I tried to leave her dream she gave me a shove and I entered the spirit layer somewhere where she was not. If she can do that, chances are good she can shield herself, so I am not very hopeful about getting in a second time.”

“You don't have to. All I'm asking of you the next few days is to get some proper sleep.”

“You were rather quick to pick me up,” Kurapika observed.

“Chandni kept an eye on the spirit migration when you were off,” Mizaistom explained.

Kurapika clucked his tongue. “I've been doing this for nine years, I don't need a chaperone for my sessions anymore.”

“She's worried. And she misses you. We both do.” There was an inkling of hesitation before Mizaistom released his full parental concern. “You never visit anymore. You shouldn't make yourself too sparse, or she'll never let you leave in the first place.”

Kurapika stretched his arms over his head. “Man, I cannot wait for her to tell me I'm all skin and bones and start shoving food into my arms.”

“Easy for her when she's not the one who does the cooking,” Mizaistom grumbled.

 

**5**

 

The air in Zepile's car got stuffy real quick in ways that had nothing to do with the air conditioning and everything with Leorio's angry staring out of the window. He hadn't said a single word ever since their boss had swept away his little friend, had just put on the blue sweatsuit that Zepile handed him and plopped down in the passenger suit, spreading his bad vibes everywhere.

Also, he kept on jiggling his leg and it was driving Zepile up the walls. “You know, you should just see things from the bright side.”

“What bright side?”

“For one, you're not dead. And he's not dead either. Also, considering that the Captain came here in his private car, chances are they're just fucking.”

_That_ stopped the leg jiggling nicely. “Ooooh my god. I can't believe you.”

“What? It's a possibility.”

Leorio pressed his palms deep against his eyelids and let his head fall back with a growl. “I am never going to get these images out of my head.”

“I don't know what you're whining about, you should be happy someone's looking after him because you already have enough on your plate without that. And it's not like you’re going to give him any orgasms soon, so you can't blame him if he is getting them anywhere.”

Leorio's hands fell back into his lap. “Wow. Screw you too.” He leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “Shit. The curse.”

“Yeah,” Zepile agreed, albeit a little confused because Leorio sounded like he had just remembered it now. It wasn't like him to forget – well. Truth be told, Leorio's focusing skills were a bit off and a bit meant that there were days when he was completely beside himself. But there was a difference between ADD and not remembering the one thing that defined his whole life. “The _curse._ ”

“I left it in my apartment. Fuck.” He thumped on his leg, hard.

“How can you leave a curse anywhere? It's not object bound. I mean some of them are, obviously. But yours is family bound, right?”

“I mean my great-great-granduncle's diary. It has the curse written down in its original wording and it took me ages to find among my dad's trash. It's still in my apartment.” Leorio groaned and ran a hand over his side stubble. “Shit.”

Zepile drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He didn't know the details of Leorio's relationship to his father, except that bringing up Alessandro Paladiknight's name always dropped the mood by various degrees. But he knew that when the old man died, Leorio refused to have anything to do with the funeral. Or his inheritance. So Leorio must have been serious about it if he bothered to wade through his father's mess to get his hands on that book. “Were you finally going to hire a curse breaker?”

“Maybe. They cost a fortune. I wanted to have some proof, you know. That I'm not beating myself up over something that doesn't exist. Whatever. Too late now,” Leorio said tensely. He drew his breath in and released it in one long aggravated sigh.

“Because the diary is burning to a crisp or because your sweetheart is fucking the captain?”

“Would you stop saying that? They're not fucking. Kurapika's a consultant or something. He's–” Leorio hesitated and ran his tongue over his canines, testing the edge. “He's a dreamseer. That's what my nice little chat with Captain Nana had been about. The captain is trying to keep it under wraps, god knows _why._ ”

Zepile tilted his head. “Makes sense. Can you imagine the uproar among the people when they find out that we're hiring peacocks to snoop through their dreams?”

“Did you really just call him a _peacock?”_ Leorio was _aghast._ Speechless even, staring back open-mouthed, a reaction that Zepile considered a little bit over the top, so he didn't bother worrying about it too much and instead observed once more just how nice the curve of Leorio's mouth looked. Leorio had the best kind of mouth, with full lips and an utterly sensual pout if he could refrain from goofing around. He probably looked fantastic giving head, but too bad this was not an option for Leorio as long as this curse persisted.

While Zepile's mind slowly strayed into the gutter, Leorio finally found some words to express himself. “Wow. Just... wow. That's so not cool at all.”

“What exactly is your problem?”

“You can't just go around calling people peacocks.”

“That's... literally how they call themselves? The order of the alchemists has a peacock feather in their emblem? And they have this whole bird symbolism going on. Duuude. Half of your family is magic, how can you not know that?”

Leorio got very quiet. “It's... not a slur for gay people?”

“No, what the fuck? Why would it be?” Zepile wasn't sure if he was supposed to laugh or be insulted that Leorio thought he was casually tossing out slurs like that. Just because he considered LGBTQ+ activism as too exhausting to invest his time in, didn't mean Zepile treated his fellow queer folks with ignorance.

“Well, you know, because some assholes think that all gay people do is prance around in flashy clothes and squawk? Also, it literally has the word cock in it.”

“Oh my god, Leorio.”

“Don't laugh!” Too late. “I swear I heard someone use it to insult gay people.”

“Actually, it's a term for straight men who get all preppy and puffed up to impress women. Maybe that's where you got it from.”

Leorio shrank in his seat, flustered and petulant. “Maybe.”

Zepile hummed, mollified. “Hey, Leo? You know that you can always stay at my place for as long as you want, right? And no matter how bad tonight turns out to be, you don't need to pick up this mess on your own.”

“I know.” The words scratched in his throat. “Thank you.”

Zepile had an attitude that didn't always agree with Leorio, but he was also the most loyal partner that one could have hoped for. Which was why Leorio was hesitant to rely on him even more than necessary. He could see after his own minor catastrophes, he had done it before – when his father died and he had paid for most of the funeral costs because he felt guilty about letting Mito make all the decisions that he refused to think about. Or this summer, when he got run over by a car and had to live on a strict diet of ramen to afford paying off the hospital bills. Financial struggle was an old friend of his that liked to visit now and then and Leorio prepared for him. By helping out his neighbors with their chores in return for a meal. By riding a ratty old lady's bicycle that he bought off a student. By showering in the gym to save water bills. (Sometimes he even mooched off their electricity.)

He was prepared. He had to be.

 

**6**

 

Leorio slept that first night at the morgue, under the strict eyes of Dr. Cheadle Yorkshire. Doc Yorkshire was the police department's trauma specialist and profiler and, when her services weren't needed, would assist the medical examiner Dr. Geru Zmeya with her work. Since both the morgue and the police department resided in the same _faux_ baroque building with its green cutting roof and corroded limestone facade – which 200 years prior had been part of the local university campus – commuting between both workplaces was a quick affair.

There were far too many rumors regarding her person, most of them too absurd to be true, so Leorio didn’t bother caring about them. All he needed to know was that she worked hard and that she was obviously good at her job. Besides, she didn't even pry; she would remind him that he was free to talk to her whenever he needed and Leorio was polite enough to pretend considering it. She wrote him a sick note as well, relieving him from work for two days.

Leorio woke up the next day around noon with a stiff neck, a terrible ache in his shoulder and a slightly sore throat and dragged himself to his office to whine to Zepile about it. When he arrived, his partner was nowhere in sight. But on Leorio's desk lay an ominous gray cardboard box, bound up with twine, a single peacock feather strapped to it. Inside he found a brown office envelope and an entire outfit – light brown tweed pants and matching business slippers, a midnight blue sports coat, a white button-down shirt and an emerald tie.

Leorio had a hunch who might be behind this, although the note scribbled onto the envelope was in a strained, shaky handwriting.

 

_Fill out form and hand it to Mizaistom as soon as possible. Names have power; avoid using real/full ones._

 

Leorio went over the lines, one, two, three times. As if they carried some hidden meaning that he could encrypt if he just stared hard enough. There was none. Disappointment settled low in his stomach; he had expected a more personal sign of life. This was only telling him one thing: that Kurapika and the Captain were on a first name basis.

_'Maybe they really are fucking'_ , his brain offered. Leorio shoved the thought aside.

He sat down at his desk and spilled the content of the envelope: an official-looking request form for... a horoscope? Requiring him to write down his exact time and date of birth, his blood type and his family tree. Well, that didn't make any sense.

He decided to follow his boss' advice and just make a damn call because apparently, Kurapika was not too keen on keeping people updated.

It turned out he was not keen on answering his calls either.

 

The boy whose room Kurapika currently hogged was almost seven years old, but mature enough for another three. He did not mind the invasion in the least; Kurapika was rather quiet even when plagued by nightmares, he didn't baby talk, and he smelled nice. Besides, Kurapika was a brother and brothers shared. As long as Kurapika kept his hands off the crayons and picked up after himself.

“Pika, your phone,” the boy said. He made an attempt to grab for it, but Pairo was sleeping on his back, curled up in a purring loaf and he dared not move too much.

“I know, Cal. Leave it.” Kurapika was busy writing. Kurapika was always busy writing, Cal observed. Whenever he came to visit, their kitchen table (and now the floor of Cal's room) – filled with lists quicker than it took to eat a slice of dad's homemade cheesecake. That Kurapika had his right hand wrapped in bandages didn't stop him at all.

Cal thought that Kurapika was pretty amazing. He was _golden_ , he was magic, he could make clothes with his hands. He had a cat and eyes that saw everything, a head that knew everything. It was safe to say that Kurapika was Cal's third favorite person and Cal would tolerate many things from Kurapika, but the constant _buzz, buzz, buzz_ of his phone was making him feel itchy.

“Make it stop.”

Kurapika bent over to where the list with all the arrows was and added nine words and two question marks, then he added a point to his to-do list, which kept growing and growing. “It will stop any minute now.” And it did. Cal marveled at the simple magic of this and continued working on his drawing.

“Kurapika?”

“Yes, Cal?”

“Are you going to move in with us?”

Kurapika laughed. “Of course not.”

“Why not? Dad said your house burned down.”

“First of all,” Kurapika stopped writing and held up his index finger. “It's not the whole house that burned down. The fire destroyed a few apartments, but not mine.”

“How do you know?”

“My friends from the temple checked for me. They picked up everything magic so that the normal people might not get hurt. And, second.” Kurapika uncurled his middle finger, to shape a V. “If I moved in here, I am no longer a guest and I would have to start living by the house rules, which is unacceptable. I'm used to my own rules, I like my own rules.”

_Unacceptable_ , Cal mouthed.

Kurapika knew the best words.

 

**7**

 

Breathe. _Breathe_. And hold yourself together. Breathe, because you have seen worse. Breathe and stop this crying because your whole living room turned to charcoal and you wail about a picture. It's pathetic. And people will _see_.

 

Leorio sat, struggling, on a patch of carpet at the side of his apartment that had been miraculously untouched by the fire. No, not miraculously – _magically_. A sharp, slightly curved line by the end of the living room marked the border between destruction and his home as he knew it, its convex shape too clear to be anything else but the work of a protective shield, a dome. Leorio had no energy to think about what this meant, he was too focused on keeping his features still.

It looked like he had finally made it, but his glance fell back on the piece of soot-smeared glass that had dropped between his crossed legs, all that was left of the picture frame on his living room shelf. The corners of his mouth began to quiver, then his face contorted and turned pink again, hot tears rolled over his sore, heated cheeks. He wiped them away, staining everything black with his dirty fingertips.

He hiccuped. Sniffed.

One picture. The only picture he had of himself with Gon, back when Gon was still a squirmy little rosy-brown lump of chub and wails and Leorio had been showing his gap-toothed, proud big brother smile into the camera.

(He and Gon were not brothers, but Leorio had always hoped for a younger sibling and when his parents had denied him this, he latched onto his cousin.)

Gon would turn seventeen that very year; it was nigh impossible that Mito still had the negatives. The picture would be lost, taken from him by outer forces just like Gon had been taken from him when the magic in his blood started shining through.

(They still kept in contact via phone calls or skype. There were new pictures to share, but their lives could not cross. Leorio couldn't handle the thought of hurting Gon, again, just by being what he was. Whatever that was.)

A person approached.

“Piss off, whoever you are.”

Leorio refused to look in their direction, but from the corner of his eyes he saw a pair of legs in black jeans. The person stopped, waiting. They carried a tote bag; it dangled at the level of their calves.

“I ain't gonna repeat myself,” he warned.

“I thought you could use some help.” The voice belonged to the one person Leorio had longed most to see. Which, ironically, was also the person he least wanted to see _him_ right now.

“Well, I don't. I can deal with this, I just need a bit to adjust, okay?” _On my own_ , he wanted to add. But he had been the one desperately trying to reach out. Who knew if Kurapika would return when he left now?

Kurapika took another step forward as if to cement the fact that he would stay. He bowed forward ever so slightly, Leorio could see it from the corner of his eyes. “Leorio, please look at me.”

‘Please’ was such a rare word coming from Kurapika's mouth that Leorio knew no other way to react than to comply.

Kurapika's face fell. His eyes, the curve of his mouth softened, and this was so wrong, there was nothing _soft_ about Kurapika, save for his hair, his hands, his skin – things that one could touch, things that Leorio would not be allowed to touch anymore, but his core? His attitude? There was nothing soft about that.

“Don't. Whatever you're going to say next, keep it to yourself.”

“Leorio,” Kurapika said again, chiding, pleading. “Let me help you. It's the least I can do.”

He tucked a few blond strands behind his ear, but they were so fine that they slipped right back. Kurapika wore black leather gloves today, fastened around his wrists by two ebony buttons.

It was one of the minor tragedies of Leorio's life that whenever they met, Kurapika looked so brilliant and dashing as if he just came from a fashion show, while Leorio looked worse for wear. This held true even now, despite Kurapika wearing yesterday's outfit and Leorio having had the opportunity to change into the brand new clothes given to him. Clothes didn't matter when your face was covered in grime, tears and possibly snot, and your eyes were rubbed so sore that they would be swollen for days. Now, Kurapika's face was as pleasant as always, but what Leorio would have given to bring back his aloof, cocksure expression. He was used to Kurapika being a sharp-tongued little brat. He didn't want this pity. But a part of him really, really wanted to be saved. He was sick of fate kicking his ass. Let someone else play the part of the knight and save the day for once – Kurapika looked nothing short of a disney prince.

“Fine.”

“Good. Let's start with _you_.” Kurapika dug in his tote bag and drew out a glass flask with a golden, shimmering liquid sloshing in it. Actually _shimmering_ , like glitter dust in nail polish. It looked the opposite of potable. The sticker on the flask was designed like a cameo, ocher on ivory, vintage script spread over a frame of vines, a bee in its center.

“ _Hug in a bottle_? Is this–”

“Spirits? Yes.”

Spirits. There had been a time when this word referred to a variety of strong alcoholic drinks. Then the alchemists had reclaimed it as a trademark and a seal of quality. In order to deserve the title Spirits, a drink had to be brewed in an alchemical process. Naturally, Leorio was not a fan. “I can't drink anything magical.”

“It's not magical. Magical is not the same as alchemical, you know. Alchemy, in its very nature, is a science that unites all other sciences and spiritual concepts. And this here,” Kurapika jiggled the bottle, “is mead, refined with some natural mood enhancers.”

“And glitter.”

“And glitter,” Kurapika agreed. “Every step in the making of Spirits follows astrological guidelines, that's what makes them alchemical. There are no spells involved in the making of this, nothing that could be–”

Leorio took the bottle gingerly, careful not to brush against the fingers that offered it.

“Corrupted,” Kurapika finished, the corners of his lips drawing up to a snarl. He ran his tongue over his upper lip as if to check if the word had left a nasty aftertaste. “We need to talk. About _that_ I mean.”

“Then talk,” Leorio offered when he broke the wax seal and uncorked. “I ain't stopping you.” He took a sip. The Spirit seemed to heat up the instant it touched his tongue and he nearly gagged for all the rich scents that filled his mouth, honey and salvia, a hint of sea buckthorn and pomegranate. Leorio swallowed and coughed, feeling very much like a schoolboy drinking for the first time. He shuddered; the heat spread right from his belly to his muscles and crept under his skin, tingling delightfully. Not magical, _his ass_. He took another sip; this one went down much more smoothly and swept through his chest, storing the heat there.

Leorio felt... clean. Less brittle, like the liquid fire of the Spirit had burnt off his insecurities and turned him into sterner stuff – which was such an odd thought, considering that a fire was the cause of his misery in the first place.

Kurapika sat down in the hallway, opposite to Leorio but mirroring his position. Cross-legged, bent forward – leaning closer. “Mizai told me that you influence anything magical with your touch, whether you want it or not.”

“Yeah.” ( _Mizai_. Leorio wondered if he had any right to ask about the nature of their relationship. But his boss was nothing like that sleazy guy that Kurapika had been dating last time, so Leorio could not hide his interest under a layer of concern.)

“Why is that?”

Leorio shrugged and pried the cork back on the bottleneck. “I don't know, I wasn't exactly born with a user manual and blueprint. Suppose my bad luck is messing with other people too.”

“No, that can't be it, you're too sweet for that.” Kurapika grew very quiet, then his eyes widened with realization. “I mean! Sweet _blooded_. Like when someone seems to attract more mosquitoes than others and people say 'wow, you really must have sweet blood.' That's the case with you, except you attract spirits en masse. Not those kind of spirits, obviously,” Kurapika clarified when Leorio eyed the mead with confusion.

“You mean like undines and sylphs?” He put the bottle in his coat pocket for now.

“Not quite. Those are sprites, elemental sprites, to be exact, who possess _matter_ , meaning that they can take up a physical form if they want to. There have been documentations of sprite sightings throughout history that go back much further than the Faustus manuscripts – which I personally consider dilettantish anyway – which prove that they have always been a part of our existential layer rather than the spiritual one and–”

“Kurapika,” Leorio interrupted, exhausted.

Kurapika cocked his head up and frowned. “You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you? Of course not. I guess I got carried away.”

“It's a bit... much,” Leorio admitted and made a weak gesturing motion. “All of this. I'm still not over the fact that you're... you know. I mean, how long have we been neighbors? More than a year. And I never suspected a thing. Not that you'd have to tell me, but I could have really hurt you.”

“But you didn't. There has to be a reason for that, and if we can find out, we're one step closer to dealing with this problem.”

“We?”

“You think I would leave you alone with this? We're friends, aren't we? And you can only benefit from my knowledge. Or my contacts, for that matter. So.” Kurapika's back straightened and his eyes lit up with determination. “Tell me, in as much detail as possible, when and how you influenced other people's magic.”

 

_The first time – the first time he remembers – he has just turned thirteen a few months prior and he and his best friend Pietro spend the summer in a sports camp where there is a boy who can talk to snakes. At least that's what he says. No one ever trusts a boy who cannot show what he boasts about. They make a bet, because bets make an exciting thing even more exciting – Leorio remembers most clearly making a big show out of spitting in their hands as grossly as possible and shaking them. Pietro calling them nasty from where he sits on a wooden porch in his mucky shorts, his naked legs dangling over the ledge._

_The boy stops and falls to his knees, rests his head on the earth as if in prayer, whispering secrets into the earth. At first, nothing happens. Then the slithering begins._

_There are too many snakes. They are drawn in from all sides, brown and shimmering. Leorio yells at the boy that he needs to stop, that he needs to send them away again but the kid does not know how – he just knows how to call them and manipulate maybe one of them. He does not understand. He never meant to call that many._

_Pietro draws up his legs and tells them not to move. But soon they will be crowded. And what then? Will they start crawling up their pant legs?_

_Leorio makes a run for it anyway._

_He falls when they start biting his legs. He falls and wants to wriggle them off but the hissing gets louder and louder, pressing into him, making his heart race._

_Leorio doesn't remember anything that happens afterwards. When he wakes up in the hospital, days have passed. He asks what has become of the other boy. No one answers him._

 

Leorio stood up and stretched his legs. He went to the bathroom, leaving the door open as he continued to speak, and began to sort through his toiletries.

He might as well get shit done.

 

_The second time, he tries to have his fortune read from his palm._

(Kurapika snorted with distaste.)

_He has to be fourteen, no, fifteen. He is fifteen and girls fascinate and terrify him in equal amounts. Leorio really likes girls. They're pretty and smell good and he even likes the way they laugh when he makes a fool of himself. Which he does quite often because he is clumsy. Which is partly the fault of his lanky limbs and partly bad luck._

_Two girls sprint out of the fortune teller's tent, nearly shrieking with laughter. They have some not-so-nice things to say about the lady in the tent and one of them (her hair is a veil of black silk and she wears a white summer dress with cherries as red as her lips and Leorio can only stare) says that her toucan has more magic in its tail feathers than this fraud. Her arm brushes against Leorio's as she walks by._

_She glares at him as if it's his fault, but her attention does not linger for long. She turns to her friend and says, “Bet I could make a more accurate prediction on a cloudy new moon's night.”_

_Feeling childish, Leorio never goes into the tent after all. He does not follow the girls either, he explores the rest of the fair without much enthusiasm because it's just not as much fun without Pietro. Not that he can get mad at his friend for not coming. He's sick, again._

_There is a commotion when Leorio leaves the fair. He does not crane his neck to see what it's about; his mother liked to say that gaping is a worse sin than ignorance._

_The next day, the picture of the girl who bumped into him is in the newspapers. The article calls her a 'teenage scryer of promising talent' who 'tragically suffered a_ petit mal _seizure while attempting to make a prediction for her friend'. Half of the article is devoted to a discourse on whether or not there is a relation between the increase of alchemists and the increase of documented mental illnesses and Leorio reads it eagerly. It eases the knot in his stomach a bit._

 

“Why didn't you tell me my face looks like shit?” He had known he was a mess, he just had no idea it was _that_ bad of a mess. Leorio used a face wipe from a box that one of his one night stands had forgotten. The oils did a splendid job, taking up part of the soot and smearing the rest even worse. And they hurt his already irritated eyelids.

Kurapika appeared in the bathroom entrance at the other side of the mirror, like he was Leorio's very own private haunting, locking eyes with him through the glass. “It does? I didn't notice a difference.”

Leorio grumbled and contemplated throwing some q-tips at this familiar poltergeist.

“Did you know some people can tell someone's fate by looking at their face?”

“Can you?” He let hot water run in the sink and scrubbed his hands with olive bar soap until they were remotely clean. (He could never get rid of the grime that crept in the cracks of his rough skin, leaving his knuckles dark.)

“Maybe.” Kurapika was teasing. The mean kind, too, the one he was unaware of, where he just leaned casually in the doorway and looked at Leorio, his eyes dark and challenging, his head slightly tilted, exposing a slender neck that was meant to be caressed and kissed.

Kurapika was a temptation that was so painful to resist.

When Leorio's hands emerged from the water, it had turned ashen and milky.

“What does mine say?” he asked as he coated his hands in another layer of soap, which he rubbed into his cheeks.

“That you're troubled.”

Leorio chuckled mirthlessly. “That's easy. I'm always troubled.”

He rinsed his face.

 

_He doesn't realize it's actually his fault until it happens a third time._

 

Kurapika waited.

He waited for Leorio to continue talking, but Leorio was stalling, busying himself with throwing his shaving supplies into a shower bag, on top of the lotion, the cologne, the toothpaste. He zipped everything up with an air of finality.

And still, Kurapika was waiting.

Leorio turned around and asked Kurapika to take a step back. The bathroom doorway was narrow even without a dreamseer demanding his space in it; Leorio could not get past him without risking that they touched.

Kurapika knew this and did not move an inch, leaving Leorio effectively trapped.

Leorio sighed and his shoulders sagged. “What is it now?”

“What do you think, how close do you have to be to someone before it starts? Does it require skin on skin contact? Could I – could you wear gloves to keep it from happening?” Kurapika's eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed up like a cat that had spied some prey. Leorio knew that expression. It was Kurapika's science face and that meant he was up to no good. “Rubber and latex are good choices, by the way, they are excellent magic insulators.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I didn't exactly conduct an experiment yet on the expense of other people's safety,” Leorio barked.

“But are you sure that it involves touch? That it's not something you're shrouded in? How close would you let someone before you–” Kurapika leaned forward ever so slightly. Leorio took a step back. “Don't,” he warned. “You don't know what you're doing.”

“Neither do you.”

“Yeah, but I don't play around like that. It's bad enough when it happens by accident, you don't have to provoke it.”

Kurapika tried to reason: “But perhaps that would give us a better understanding. If we are to assume that I am not exempt from this effect, I should be able to sense something–”

Leorio spat. “No. Fuck, no. If you do that, I'm going to cancel our friendship.”

“I–”

“Do you even think about how I feel about this? Just this once? Do you know what it's like to see someone you care about suffer and realize it's all your fault? I had to watch my cousin thrash and scream on the floor when he lost control over his shapeshifting and I still, _still_ have nightmares about it. I'm not going to let that happen ever again. Do you understand?”

Leorio's chest seized up at the memory and he wanted to place his hands at the side of Kurapika's face and make him _see_. He balled them to fists instead.

No words could ever fully describe the horrid, gut-wrenching sight of tearing skin as thick fur burst through underneath and shed and burst up again. Muscles swelling up and deflating spasmodically. Gon's amber eyes shining with fear and confusion. Wanting, aching to help, but having Ging intervene.

_Leave him be. You'll only make it worse._

Leorio learned quickly that in his case, leaving things as they were was always the preferable option. He had nothing to gain from trying.

Kurapika chewed on his lower lip. “I'm sorry. I had no idea.”

“So, don't– don't help me at the expense of your own health.”

 

They split tasks. Kurapika took pictures of the fire damage for the insurance, while Leorio roamed through his bedroom, put up his travel bag on the middle of his bed and started piling his clothes in it. The absolute necessities were the easy part and it took him no time at all: the contents of his closet were sparse enough that he could fit every single thing in the bag and there would still be room enough for his most important documents. No, the real question was: what to do with the things he didn't need right now?

The door of his apartment had turned to charcoal and although he could find no signs of intrusion, it was only a matter of time before someone would break in. And his neighbors would call the cops. And then he would have a bunch of colleagues stumbling around through his bedroom, peeking in every drawer. Chances were good that any burglar might take his porn magazines, but they would leave the _toys_ behind. Better take those then and bury them deep at the bottom of the bag, never to see the light of day as long as he was depending on other people's hospitality.

The laptop he had to take. The books would stay, all but the diary. Actually, now that Leorio thought of it, he might as well take the Shakespeare sonnets too. Burying his great-great-granduncle's curse under a collection of partially gay poetry brought him perverse delight.

Kurapika knocked this time before he entered.

“I finished with the pictures. You might not want to tell you insurance company why only half of your apartment–” He stopped and shrank away, covering his pressing his mouth and nose with a gloved hand. “ _Hermes Trismegistus_ , what did you do to this room? It reeks of magic.”

“What are you talking about? And what's magic even s'posed to smell like?”

“Amniotic liquor,” Kurapika pressed.

“You're shitting me.”

“I am not. Pure magic essence smells like birth. Although this–” Kurapika lowered his hand from his face and made a slow, circling motion with it. His fingers stayed oddly limp. “this is more like the scab on an infant's head. Not a bad smell, but enticing. Overwhelmingly so.”

“Well, I can't smell a thing.”

“My senses are a lot more refined than yours. If I'm right, it should be coming from–”

“You can't look in my bag,” Leorio squawked, as the reality of both the curse and his vibrators weighed into his mind. He was not sure if he was ready to tell Kurapika about the former, but he would rather die than let him see the latter. There was only so much bullshit he could handle on a single day.

“I was going to suggest your desk.” Kurapika raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to say something and closed it right away. “Something tells me I'd better not ask about your bag. What's in that band box over there? Can I check?”

“Only if you take off your gloves and show me what's wrong with your hand.”

“You noticed.”

“Of course I did, when do you ever wear gloves just because they look cool?” The answer was never. Kurapika was always busy with this hands, when he didn't write or cook or talk with them, he knitted, he touched and smoothed, he drummed his fingertips. Gloves only got in the way.

“Just a minor burn, nothing serious,” Kurapika retorted and slipped off the gloves, revealing a clean gauze. “So, what's in that box?”

“Stuff.” Leorio went to his desk and took off the lid, then held it towards Kurapika as if he was offering some chocolate treats. “Junk. That I found and wanted to keep.”

“You're a scavenger?” Kurapika asked, lips curling up in amusement. He took the box and sat down on Leorio's bed, smoothing the covers next to him before he poured the contents of the box. A mingle-mangle of coins, marbles, shells, one earring that had a glass flower dangling from it. An origami crane, a tiny Froebel star. Three postcards. A switchblade knife. An old seed-shaped perfume flask with the relief of a mermaid or nix on it.

“I collect neat stuff, so what? A lot of people do it.”

Like Cinderella, Kurapika picked the items up one by one, putting some on the lid, some back into the box. “When did you start with that?”

“When I was a kid? Actually, I started off with stones, but I couldn't keep them all. And I got sick of them eventually. I _do_ throw stuff out, you know.” Leorio's expression darkened. Sometimes, he would find things in his pockets – beaded bracelets mostly – that he couldn't remember picking up.

Now, Leorio was used to not remembering things. He was used to zoning out, too. It was remarkable how deeply ingrained some of his daily operations were and how well he managed to get through them on autopilot, as long as no one disturbed him in his rhythm. But. Picking up junk was a different matter, because those were new items. He should at least remember seeing them before, even if he failed to recognize when and where he found them. Was he surprised to find those were the last pieces still on the bed? Not really. Magic worked in the strangest ways.

Instead of sorting the bracelets and keychains, Kurapika aligned them neatly. “How do you decide what to keep?”

Leorio scratched his chin. “Does it matter?”

“And why did you keep the bracelets if you don't intend to wear them?”

“They're hand-made, probably one of a kind. Their owner would recognize them. I don't want to get in a fight with a teenage girl. Are they... cursed?”

Kurapika shook his head and tucked one leg under his body. “Quite the opposite, actually. They are interwoven with protective spells. With the same protective spell, cast by the same person. That explains why half of your apartment has been spared.”

“That was not your doing?”

“Spells are energy and energy distributes in waves,” Kurapika explained. “Now, if the spells have the same wavelength and superpose with one another, it will cause a stronger spell with a greater ratio, which was even more effective because you kept them all at the same place.” He fidgeted with the cuff of his shirt. Kurapika's brown eyes were fixed on the band box, despite his preference to look people in the eye when he talked to them. (To stare them down, but also out of habit. He used to have a hearing-impaired grandmother; he told Leorio that much on one of their laundry days. That was why he shaped his words so accurately, so one could read his lips more easily.)

“Kurapika?” Leorio picked one of the friendship bracelets up. It was crocheted, not knotted, and made from a soft and squishy yarn that began to pill around the edges. Bracelets were usually sturdier than that. “Would you say that's cotton?”

“Merino.” The fidgeting stopped and Kurapika's breath caught for a moment when he realized that his answer had been a little bit too quick. “If I had to guess.”

Leorio knew shit about yarn, but he had suspected merino too. Kurapika loved to work with merino wool. And Kurapika loved to correct people; it was like a reflex.

“Isn't your favorite sweater made from merino too? You know, the one that you knit yourself? It's funny, but I could swear this bracelet has the same shade of pink.”

“Pink is a very popular color.”

Another funny thing about Kurapika was that he preferred misconceptions and distractions over a bold-faced lie.

“You made these bracelets, didn't you?”

He fell silent. And scratched his arm.

“Goddammit, Kurapika.”

“Oh, shut up.” Red, angry blotches of color bloomed high on Kurapika's cheeks. He could get really vicious when he was flustered, especially if he was flustered because he had been caught red-handed at something, but Leorio was just so done with him, done with everything. This was such a stupid, stupid thing to lie about.

“Why didn't you just fucking give them to me as a gift? You know, like a _normal person_. I would have worn them, no questions asked, you absolute egghead.” He was shouting, oh god, he was shouting and Kurapika's blush spread over his entire face.

“Right after we met?” Kurapika demanded to know, his eyebrows raising dangerously high. “When we were strangers? I doubt that. You would have asked questions and I couldn't afford that.”

Questions. Could you _believe_ that guy, fucking with someone else's mind just because he didn't want to face _questions_. Leorio was livid. Close to tearing his hair out. “What were they even for?”

“Warding off your bad luck.”

… and just like that the pent-up anger puffed away like steam. “Oh.”

“I've been to the beekeeper today to order a firmer charm, with more longevity. It might take a few days until it's ready, so if you could wear one of the bracelets until then...”

“Will do,” Leorio promised. He crossed his arms before his chest and kicked against the pedestal of the bed. “You never meant for me to know, did you? That you're magic, I mean.”

Kurapika huffed and frowned and made his indignant geek face. “I'm not magic, I _have_ magic. There's a difference. And no, I did not want you to know. You always have this constipated look when you're confronted with anything magical and I had no desire to be on the receiving end of that. And I was right, wasn't I? The reasons for your actions turned out a lot less bigoted than expected but it still changed everything.”

Leorio sat down and pulled his travel bag between them as a safety buffer. He rested his elbow on his stuff and ran a hand over his face. “We two are a pathetic pair, aren't we?”

“ _You're_ pathetic, I'm complicated.”

Leorio groaned. “God, I hate you so much.”

(Kurapika could hear the endearment in that statement, but it still hurt. Then again, even looking at Leorio hurt Kurapika most times, for a spectrum of reasons. Watching him struggle, day after day. His raw kindness, his rugged handsomeness, his unappealing manners. The wounds on his fingers; not a day went by on which Leorio would not bleed. His crude, unpolished way of speaking.)

(He was sensitive, he was ridiculous, he wore his feelings on his sleeve.)

(His assets and his flaws formed a wholesome amalgam, a heavy and rough substance, and Kurapika could not help but to yearn for it. If only he had liked Leorio less, he could have been content with figuring out the alchemical puzzle that this man posed and move on.)

 

“Thanks,” Leorio whispered after a minute of silence.

Kurapika asked incredulously what exactly Leorio was thanking him for, since he was not even being sarcastic.

“Looking after me. I mean, the way you did it was absolutely not cool, and you really gotta work on your people skills, but... thanks. Also, these clothes.” He brushed imaginary lint off the sports coat. “Do I want to know how much you paid for them?”

“No money spent on making you look good for once is wasted,” Kurapika offered sheepishly, a little less sly, a little less certain than he usually was. The struggle with him was that he sugarcoated his insults and served his compliments in a hard, bitter shell, making it impossible to decide how to react. Months ago, Leorio's only response was irritation but now he was almost grateful. He found comfort in these familiar ways. “Why do you always have to be such a little shit, huh?” he asked softly.

A smile flickered over Kurapika's face like an apparition; gone so quick that one had to wonder if it had ever been there. He ignored Leorio's question. “I should also point out that you saved my life. These clothes barely make a dent in what I still owe you.”

“You don't have to pay me back.”

“Yes I do. And if I'm lucky and actually do find out why you're causing such disturbances to other magic users I might even pay off my debt in your lifetime. That reminds me. Mizaistom faxed me your family tree. I've only skimmed it so far, but there's not enough information on your mother's side. I need a little bit more if I want to look up your ancestry. If there's a precedent case, I will most likely find it right among your relations. A lot of magical traits, just like physical ones, are hereditary. So, if you could provide me with some additional information, and if it's just the email of some of your relatives, that would be most helpful.”

Leorio weighed his options. He could remain silent and wait it out, see what Kurapika dug out through his research. Or, he could stop being a fucking coward and _tell him_. (The problem was, it was almost always easier to be asked about an issue than bring it up on one's own, because then one did not have to face disbelief.) Leorio, remembering that Kurapika deserved to know, decided to be brave. “There may be... another thing. It's not related to the problem at hand, but it _is_ a magical problem. And it concerns my family, so.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, nothing special, just your run-of-the-mill family curse–”

“Cursework,” Kurapika said pointedly, “is illegal.”

“Well, it's not like I _asked_ to be cursed, right?” Leorio started digging through the contents of his bag, peeking up nervously every now and then.

“Well, no, but– you're affected? You're affected by a curse and you only tell me now?”

“When was I supposed to tell you? And I just told you, it has nothing to do with why I mess up other people's magic, all it does is limit my dating choices. ... which, if I put it that way, is exactly what my other problem does too. But it's a small thing compared to–” A chill went up his spine, just when he brushed over the cracked leather spine of the diary.

“Curses,” Kurapika said, baring his teeth, digging the fingers of his good hand in his thigh as he leaned over, “no matter how trivial, are never a small thing. They sow nothing but harm.” Kurapika's hair stirred like a breeze caught in it and his eyes shone darker, gray brown turning to maroon, to russet, to glowing scarlet. The air charged; Leorio's skin broke out in goosebumps and he could smell... _ozone_?

“Oh-kayyy,” he replied awkwardly. “Kurapika, whatever you're doing right now, you should stop.”

Kurapika closed his eyes and exhaled, the curve of his golden lashes trembling against darker cheeks. Tension eased from his jaw, his temple. Despite that, his irises remained red when he focused his attention back on Leorio. “Is it a chastening or compelling type of curse?”

“Does chastening mean that fire rains from the sky when you do something you're not supposed to? Because it's a little bit like that. Although I'm not sure what’s supposed to happen when I do the forbidden thing? It just goes something like–” Slowly, Leorio pulled out a black, leather bound diary and offered it without looking Kurapika in the eye. “Blablabla, gay people are evil, blablabla, I don't want them tainting my family, I curse everyone of my blood to engage in strictly heterosexual activities _or else_.”

Leorio swallowed hard. He braced himself for the question that Kurapika would ask, the one that was inevitable considering their bumpy history. What he received was silence. Silence and a look of utter irritation. The eerie glow faded from Kurapika's eyes, which should have eased Leorio's mind, but–

“I'm not joking. Don't think that I am just because I don't remember it word by fancy word. My dad showed it to me once when I was eleven and then I checked again when I was seventeen and it became... relevant. You didn't think I was–”

“Straight?” Kurapika finished. “No. Closeted, yes. But I figured you had your reasons for that and I had no right to pry.”

The irony was that Kurapika pried about anything else, just not the one matter Leorio wanted to be pried about. And he still had not asked the question. And if he had no intention to ask, what did it mean? _That he doesn't care anymore._

Kurapika stroked the cover of the book with a tender, careful motion, swiping away imaginary dust. “There are institutions who deal with this. For a minimal fee you could have your curse at least inspected and registered and wait if some aspiring curse breaker wants to write their thesis on it. You could save a lot of money like that; they can't charge you as much for breaking it if they get something out of it. Of course...” A fine crease shaped between Kurapika's brows. “We don't have the time for that now.”

“I see.” Leorio deflated.

“No, I mean we don't have time to go the official way. I need to have it evaluated and cracked as soon as possible. The less magical background noise you have, the easier it will be to figure out your corruption. And I can imagine you will breathe easier once it's gone.”

Leorio passed Kurapika the hug-in-a-bottle. He would rather give him a real one, but for now he would have to settle for the warm, conspiring grin Kurapika offered him when he raised the flask to his lips.

 

**8**

 

They walked together for a while, side by side, leaving just enough space between them that a very determined and rushed passersby could squeeze through, barely touching either of them; yet still close enough to make it obvious they were company. Kurapika's tote bag hung from the crook of his elbow, and he had a brown paper bag pressed to his chest, filled with the contents of Leorio's fridge. Leorio had his travel bag slung over his shoulder, which was heavy enough. They could have been anyone, going anywhere; they could have been people without a past and obligations. There was comfort to be found in that thought, too.

When Leorio laughed, half indignant, half amused, it almost sounded carefree. “You got _grounded?_ That's how they call it? _Grounded?_ Like you're a rebellious teenager?”

“Well, the recommended resting period in between sessions is called the 'grounding interval' so it does kind of make sense.”

“Did you slam your door and blast up some emo song real loud?”

“I'm pretty sure that's against the house rules. And the most _emo_ you will find in their household is Rachmaninov's first piano concert, respectively. Which is rather dramatic, but not the kind that allows pacing through the room in angry irritation.”

“Then you're not trying hard enough.”

“You don't even know any classical music!” Kurapika accused. A few strangers turned their head. Leorio beamed brighter with any passing minute, the familiar ways of their banter were like balm for a mind that shivered with anxiety. “Psssh. Unimportant details. Where did you say you were staying, again?”

“I didn't. And you tried the same trick twice just now, that's weak. I'm not supposed to tell you and I won't. You will hear from me soon enough. And if anything comes up, you always have my email and my phone number.”

“Fine, you know what? I'm not going to tell you where I'm staying either.”

“Leorio, we are literally on our way to Detective Misunderstood Artist and even if we weren't, your options were so painfully sparse that I could check on them all in one day.”

Leorio blew a raspberry. Kurapika chuckled. The sound of it burned warmer in Leorio's stomach than the hug-in-a-bottle.

“Fine, we get it, you're Sherlock Holmes.”

“Does Zepile know how awful you are with remembering laundry days or do I need to call you up each time?”

“I'm not _that_ – okay, maybe I am that bad but you're saying that like I'm going to live on his couch for months. How long can it take to fix up my apartment? I mean, they probably have to replace part of the floor or ceiling. And the cables. And I need a new door. And a new door frame. Oh god, knowing our landlord, this will take _ages_.”

“You can always ask him if you can move into mine. It just needs a new coat of paint and you have to scrub the furniture clean if you intend to keep it.”

Leorio came to a halt. A man with a nose as knobbly as a potato bumped into him and cursed, then entered the mass of passengers streaming by.

Kurapika made a few slow steps ahead before he stopped and turned.

“You're... moving out? Why?”

“You mean aside from the fact that you told a handful of strangers what I do for a living? It might not be safe for me to stay. And we don't know yet what caused the fire. What if it wasn't an accident? Mizai says I need to lie low for a little bit.”

“But we're not going to be neighbors anymore.”

“We're still friends, aren't we? And it's not like I'll disappear completely. You will have to find a different laundry buddy, that's all.”

 

When Leorio caught up to Kurapika again, the distance between them had grown.


	2. Albedo

_Babe, there's something tragic about you_  
_Something so magic about you... don't you agree?_  
_Babe, there's something lonesome about you_  
_Something so wholesome about you_  
_Get closer to me_

Hozier, _From Eden_

 

**1**

Secrets are a strange kind of fungus, scientists will agree.

They grow in the light of the moon, drawing nourishment from second-guessing, guilt and pleasure alike. Their mycelia spreads widely, from person to person, until they are ripe and strong, ready to rise from the thicket. Some glow so brightly you can spot them from miles away, others are small and plain. But each begins with a seed, a single spore.

The seed of Leorio's and Kurapika's secret was shaped when their breath mingled, on a hot summer's day, three months before a fire would uproot most of the things they kept from one another. They do not talk about this day. They keep this secret so ardently that they hide it even from themselves; since its web of roots lies deep and thick and causes pain when disturbed.

Leorio's fan broke on the hottest day of summer.

He spent his Sunday lying on the floor and groaning, too paralyzed by the heat to even consider getting up and buying a new one. He could maybe ask Kurapika – Kurapika surely owned a fan because Kurapika had his life sorted out neatly. In fact, he had his life sorted out so neatly that he read books on theoretical physics as well as astrophysics. For fun. Maybe, if Leorio asked really, really nicely, Kurapika might even let him into his neat air-conditioned apartment. Leorio could count the times he had been in Kurapika's apartment on one hand and not once had he been allowed to enter without being invited at least 24 hours in advance. But asking couldn't hurt, right? Besides, this excuse to talk to his cute neighbor was as good as any.

Leorio picked himself off the floor, dragged himself out of the apartment.

As it happened, Kurapika was just coming back from a trip to the grocery store when Leorio spotted him in the hallway. He was not exactly dressed for the weather. Granted, the blue harem pants that covered his legs might turn out as light and lofty as they looked, but he wore a black cardigan over a white tank top, like he was asking to be baked in the sun.

It turned out that Kurapika's AC had died as well, but he offered sharing his window fan if Leorio would give him ten minutes to store the groceries away. When Kurapika returned, he had tied his hair up in a tiny ponytail and was balancing the window fan on his arms. Leorio called him a fool and rushed to his side to take the heavy device.

Kurapika shed off the cardigan as soon as Leorio's door had closed behind him.

A lot of the things Kurapika did would make no sense to an outsider. Even Leorio, who knew Kurapika better than the rest of the other neighbors, only knew the motives behind some of his peculiar habits. He knew that Kurapika had a rough time in his teenage years, although he had never specified why. But it must have been a balance act, performed on the edge of a blade – he had the scars to show that he made it out alive. On his arms, on his thigh.

Leorio was pretty sure that Kurapika took drugs, too. He didn't show any signs of substance abuse, but even smoking a little bit of weed every now and then could get you in a real pinch if your neighbor was a cop, so it just made sense that he would go through the trouble of moving the fan instead of inviting Leorio in.

They wedged the window fan in and sat down on the floor in front of it, leaning against the back of Leorio's couch. This turned out to be a terrible mistake for Leorio to make. They were close enough that their arm hairs could touch, had they not stuck too closely to the skin. Kurapika was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, nearly glowing with it, and his hair, which was damp at the scalp and the hairline, started smelling dazzlingly like the monoi oil conditioner he loved to use.

Kurapika puffed up his cheeks and picked up the fabric of his tank top, flapping it about to let some air on his heated skin. Leorio spied a hint of a brown nipple before he could look away.

Terrible, _terrible_ mistake.

“This weather is the worst,” Kurapika complained. “I hope it'll rain soon.”

“Uh-huh,” Leorio agreed, staring intensely at the window fan. He was utterly and undeniably _weak_.

Leorio Paladiknight had denied himself a lot of things ever since he realized that it wasn't just girls that made his breath catch and his knees give in. He did not go out with boys and – despite Zepile's continuing insistence that it would do him good – he avoided entering gay bars unless his investigations led him there. He even refrained from buying or looking up any kind of gay pornographic material. (Even lesbians. Hell, especially lesbians. They deserved better than to be associated with that filth.)

The one thing Leorio could not escape was his own thoughts.

He sometimes wondered if that was the reason for his bad luck. That he was punished just for being who he was, just for existing. He hated this curse so, _so_ much. He told himself he could handle this, though, that the chances that he would fall in love with a sweet girl were higher anyway.

And then Kurapika came along. With his herbal tea recommendations and his stupid callous smile, his abundance of books, his capable hands. His overflowing knowledge.

He was also kind of an asshole, but Leorio had to learn quickly that being able to acknowledge this did not protect him from developing the worst crush of his life.

“Are you alright?” Kurapika's hand brushed over Leorio's leg and he nearly jumped.

“Huh?” He would have settled for a more eloquent reply but Kurapika's hand came to rest on his thigh, rubbing it comfortingly.

“You were all zoned out,” Kurapika said. For some reason this was not followed up by a remark how very hairy Leorio's legs were, sticking out of his basketball shorts.

“Can you blame me? It's so hot I'm surprised my brains aren't frying up and squelching out of my ears.”

“Well, you do that a lot. Even when the weather is humane.”

Leorio shrugged. “Maybe-” he said, stretching the _may_ teasingly and winding it up, “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Like?” Kurapika was smiling back at him playfully and Leorio couldn't help but stare at the flimsy strands of hair that stuck to his cheeks and his nape, the flush of his skin, the heaving of his chest. It was a gorgeous sight, the kind that was usually earned from a little bit of rough playing between the sheets and he really should not think about how Kurapika would look in his bed, his brass hair and tawny skin setting up warm against the dark blue satin. How his gray brown eyes might appear a chestnut color when they were half-lidded, regarding him with the same fondness that he usually dedicated to books and books alone. How his lips would part to tease Leorio's name.

Leorio slowly drew up his legs, pressing his knees up to his chest.

Kurapika withdrew his hand like he'd been stung. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“Hm? No. Nonono, I'm good.” He just really needed to hide the fact that his shorts were getting a bit tight around the front. He could always blame it on the heat, but Leorio didn't want to make it awkward for everyone included. Especially himself. Which was why he was quick to assure, “You can touch me all you want, I don't mind.”

“Good to know,” Kurapika said a little smugly and winked. Leorio then caught up on the innuendo of his own words. And sputtered.

He needed to put his mind on something innocent before he really embarrassed himself by going off in his pants like a schoolboy. So he asked Kurapika about the latest novel he was reading and, before he knew it, was caught in a retelling of a story about a man who traveled through a mirror into a fairy tale land... which quickly merged into a heated comparison of the utilization of European folklore elements in popular fiction. The issue was lost on Leorio, who had decided early on that college wasn't worth a lifetime of crushing debt and who certainly wouldn't have put his focus on _literature_ even if he had gotten a scholarship. Which did not mean that he was not amazed at what Kurapika did. Having two bachelors and one master's degree to his name, Kurapika Kurta had just started getting a PhD in Linguistics and earned money by selling knitwear and patterns online. It was by far the most unusual lifestyle Leorio had ever been confronted with – of course, having a rich family made it possible in the first place and sometimes, Kurapika was a bit too uppity for Leorio's liking... but he was passionate. And stubborn. Not a person you wanted to argue with, because he always had a point up his sleeve that would trump yours. And Leorio soaked up his words eagerly, smiling too wide and breathing too deeply, lost in his own study of the kaleidoscope of Kurapika's expressions.

His physical cravings subsided as his adoration prevailed.

Time trickled away slowly while Kurapika talked and Leorio listened; clouds like cotton candy moved across a purple sky which soon turned dark, until their moment was disrupted by a shocked intake of air.

“Shit. I have to feed Pairo. He's going to get grumpy if his dinner is late.”

“Isn't that basically an improvement from his usual mood?”

Kurapika blew his bangs out of his forehead. “I don't know what you're going on about, he's an absolute angel when you're around.”

“That's because he loooves me,” Leorio crooned.

“I wouldn't go that far,” Kurapika said fondly.

“He loves me more than he loves you and you know it.”

“Shut up, he doesn't. He's pretending to because he wants to make me jealous.”

With a click of his tongue and the waggle of an eyebrow, Leorio asked, “So? Is it working?”

“ _May_ be.” Kurapika drew out the first syllable with a childish pleasure. He patted Leorio's knee and stood up. His pants stuck to his butt (it was a very cute butt in Leorio's opinion, rather peach-shaped, absolutely endearing), and he spent a good half-minute unsticking the thin fabric.

“Are you going to leave me here dying in the heat?”

“You can keep the fan for a while, I still have a smaller one somewhere, I think.”

“But I'll be lonely.” Leorio tried a pout-and-puppy-eyes maneuver. With moderate success, it seemed, because Kurapika laughed and called him a baby. He crouched down in front of Leorio. “It makes my heart weep to know that you're supposed to look after the people of this town when you can't even look after yourself.” And he pinched Leorio's cheeks hard. “It's so sad.”

Leorio blew a raspberry. “Says the guy who lives on ramen and takeout.”

Kurapika wrinkled his nose in disgust, which still looked cuter than allowed. Damn him. Damn everything about him.

“Like you eat anything else.”

“I'll have you know I'm an excellent cook, I just don't have the time for it. I could cook for you some time to prove it, too.”

“Oh really?” Kurapika had yet to remove his hands from the sides of Leorio's face; instead he smoothed his thumb over the skin that he had abused so. He hummed, and said, “First you offer me to touch you and then you want to cook for me; should I leave before you make up your mind to introduce me to your parents?”

Leorio choked on his laughter. Heat crept into his cheeks and he squirmed under the scrutinizing brown eyes of his neighbor. He stretched his legs lightly, searching for a more comfortable sitting position. Kurapika seemed to have a similar idea. He came down onto his knees, leaning in dangerously close until they were eye to eye, all the while never removing his hand from Leorio's face. Leorio's heart raced and his thoughts followed short, until his tongue could barely keep up with the words bursting out of him: “There's no risk of that happening anytime soon, don't worry. I mean, unless you have some fancy necromancy powers you never told me about, which would be kinda cool, but my old man isn't really the sort of person you'd want back, yanno–”

“Leorio.” Kurapika nudged him, nose against nose and Leorio forgot to breathe. The sound that escaped his throat was something more akin to a squeak than a yes. Kurapika's breath hit his lips. “Shut up. You're more attractive when you don't speak,” he said, needling. Kurapika gazed at him lazily, through half lidded eyes, his smile being the most handsome thing Leorio had seen in a long time.

Leorio's lips parted slightly, _craving_. He didn't realize what was happening, the pleasant scent of tiare muddled his brain and there was something so smooth and familiar about the way Kurapika's head tilted – he didn't realize how they both moved slightly forward until it was nearly too late. Kurapika's bangs tickled his forehead when his memory hit him like a punch in the gut.

“Don't.”

The word plummeted out frail and shaky, for between Leorio's and Kurapika's lips it could not find enough room to grow. For a moment Leorio was not even sure if the word had belonged to him until Kurapika's eyes flew open, his pupils contracting fast.

“Please don't.”

Kurapika withdrew quick as a whip, and sat up with his back painfully straight. He looked disturbed, a little lost. And his fingers shook a little when he brought them up to his lips, where Leorio's were supposed to be. Kurapika cast his eyes to the floor. “I'm sorry. I thought– I was so _sure_ that you–” His eyebrows knit together in irritation. “I apologize.”

“Don't, it was my fault. I should have told you to stop sooner.” Leorio groaned as if in pain. “I didn't think you were actually going to kiss me.”

“I've been flirting with you all of this evening! And I thought you were flirting back.”

“I guess I was,” he admitted. Granted, his flirting skills were usually a lot smoother and _unmistakable_ , but it wasn't like he had actively tried to get in Kurapika's pants (or arms for that matter).

“But you're not interested, quite obviously,” Kurapika snarled.

Leorio wanted to disagree, Kurapika shouldn't think that his advances were unwelcome... but at the same time that would be a lie, wouldn't it? Because he could not offer what Kurapika was looking for. He would never be able to offer that.

“It's not that I don't find you attractive,” he grabbed Kurapika by the shoulders, using every ounce of willpower not to shake him because he had to see, didn't he? They couldn't fuck up the amity between them for something so dumb like a romantic misunderstanding. “Because I do, really, but I can't do this. I would if I could, but I _can't_ and you deserve more than–”

Kurapika broke free from Leorio's grip and came to his feet, swaying slightly. “Don't you dare to tell me what I deserve. I don't want your sweet talk and I don't need it either.”

“But I mean it.”

“See if I _care,_ ” he spat and stomped out of Leorio's apartment, closing the door too quietly for comfort. All that remained of him was a hint of tiare and the bitter taste of having made the wrong choices.

Thunder rolled in the distance.

Leorio felt it vibrate in his stomach, as if it was meant for him, as if it was out there to hunt and he was the marked prey. Lightning struck the outskirts of the city as the sky finally opened up and rain bore down on the dry earth.

 

**2**

 

Leorio was pulled from his deep slumber by the tinny buzz of the doorbell. He groaned, turned around on Zepile's too-small couch and drew his naked, cold feet back under his blanket before they turned to ice completely. Not his door, not his problem.

There was a thump in Zepile's bedroom, then he stumbled out, cursing. He hit the light switch with his fist; brightness pressed against Leorio's eyelids, who hid his face in the sofa cushions.

A few seconds later, he heard the hinges of the apartment door squeak. Then the door slammed shut right away. Zepile stomped back.

“Who was it?” Leorio asked.

Zepile grumbled like pre-Christmas Ebenezer Scrooge. “Your husband.”

“Veeery funny. Hilarious. Fuck you.” As if Leorio was ever going to be able to marry a man. As if Zepile didn't know that. No need to rub salt in the wound, just because _he_ was cranky.

The doorbell rang again, in three short, aggressive jabs. Leorio's brain kicked into gear.

His _husband_. Fuck.

He all but rolled off and fell to his knees. Ignoring the protest in his joints, he sprinted to the door and opened it to reveal a certain blond alchemist, slightly ruffled, features trembling with anger.

“Hi. Shit. Sorry about that.”

“What is his problem?” Kurapika snarled. He drew in a long breath and let it out in a huff, and when he was done, looked slightly less like he was going to strangle someone.

“Maybe you shouldn't ring up folks in the middle of the night.”

“It's 5 am.”

Leorio groaned and ran a hand over his face. “Normal people sleep at these hours, Kurapika.”

“That much I can see.” Kurapika looked Leorio once over, raised a brow when he reached the boxers and muttered, “At least it's not Spongebob this time.”

Leorio crossed his arms before his chest and raised his chin. There was nothing wrong with Captain America. Or Spongebob, for that matter. “Did you just come here to discuss my underwear choices?”

“No, I came here because of your little...” Kurapika tilted his head. He finished the sentence in a whisper. “Curse problem.”

From somewhere behind Leorio, Zepile shouted, “He's not _that_ little.”

Leorio's head whipped back so quickly that Kurapika flinched and he yelled, “He wasn't talking about my dick, you ass.” His voice boomed, and bounced from the naked walls of the stairway.

Kurapika cleared his throat. Then, realizing that his eyes had accidentally dropped to Leorio's crotch-level again, he stared at the ceiling. Acting as if ugly gray paint over ugly gray concrete had never looked more interesting. In fact, it was getting some concerning cracks. “You might want to invite me in before you wake the neighbors with more intimate details.” He frowned and looked back at Leorio. “Wait. How does Zepile know–”

“Just come in and pretend you never heard a thing, _please_.”

Kurapika stomped past, and Leorio closed the door behind him, knowing he would look back on this morning with regret. As if to confirm, Zepile kept on shouting while he paced through his living room. “I didn't say he could come in.”

“Yeah, well, you blew your chance to have a veto on this.”

“Watch out or I'm going to blow more than just this,” came a cranky reply.

“Ohmygod.” He had walked right into this, hadn't he? “Can you just... go and make coffee before I hurt you?”

Zepile left, but not without complaining about being bossed around in his own home. Kurapika slipped out of his coat and onto the couch, quietly.

“So, you were saying?” Leorio inquired.

“I made some progress, but you might want to put on some pants first.”

Leorio _did_ put some pants on, and he played the nice host that Zepile refused to be by hanging up Kurapika's coat and getting three mismatched cups out of the cupboard. He also put two cubes of sugar in Kurapika's cup, then remembered that Zepile didn't have any dairy-free creamer and added another one. Zepile poured the coffee and insisted on drinking his while he lingered in the kitchen doorway, glaring at the intruder.

Leorio held out the cup for Kurapika, who reached to take it. They both froze before their fingers could bump. Leorio's face turned into a waxen mask. “Maybe I'll just–” He put the cup on the coffee table. “Yeah.” He let his body slump down in the armchair, feeling much heavier than just a minute ago.

Kurapika scratched his arm uncomfortably. He looked so awfully out of place in this apartment. Zepile's living room was littered with mangy old paint-blotched blankets, honey jars filled with paint water or yesterday's coffee or cigarette butts. Framed canvasses leaned against every wall, the air smelled like humid clay and old ash and sour milk. Zepile's furniture was all made from a rich brown wood to add some warmer colors probably, but their color reminded Leorio of mushrooms... which would thrive in this clammy atmosphere just fine.

Kurapika was a speck of color in his pastel striped sweater. His outfit looked like it was worth more than the couch he sat on and Leorio would have felt self-conscious for it, if he hadn't been so distracted by Kurapika's scratching. Was it a response to stress or had he fresh, itching cuts? He had once said that this habit of his was well in the past, where it belonged. Kurapika was good now. Capable. Unafraid. But he was still hurting himself in small ways. Pinching his wrist, scratching his skin raw, pressing the tip of his thumb against a blunt sewing needle until it bruised.

Leorio could hear the bruises in his voice when Kurapika said, “I'm going to come right out and say it. I've read the entire diary and I could not find an inkling of the curse you described.”

He tried to protest, but Kurapika held up his hand to silence him. “There is a curse, alright. But neither the type nor its purpose match what you described. You must have misread it.”

“But–”

“But?”

Leorio turned to Zepile. “Can you, uh, go to the bakery?”

Zepile sneered. “It's fucking five in the morning.”

“Subway, then.”

“I'm not having Subway for breakfast just because you want to have some alone time with Mister Magic Man here. If you ask me real nice I can check if we have enough in the kitchen for pancakes.”

“We only have regular milk.”

Kurapika raised his coffee to his lips and blew over the steaming surface. “You don't need to take me into consideration. I'm going to have breakfast with a friend at the temple,” he said.

Somehow, that was all the encouragement Zepile needed to finally disappear into the kitchen. Leorio could breathe a little lighter. He still dropped his voice to ask, “Are you telling me what happened to me last summer was just a weird coincidence? That the fact that I got run over by a car had nothing to do with... with that _thing_ that happened between us?”

“That was my fault,” Kurapika concluded rather soberly, dropping his gaze to the cup before he drank.

“No, nononono, I didn't mean to blame you, not at all, but you see what I'm aiming at, right? The one time I nearly break the curse's rules... the one time I come out and actually admit that I like a guy and four days later I'm in the hospital.”

Kurapika winced, either in distaste or regret. “Leorio, I mean it. _It was my fault_. Not directly and not on purpose, but after our little argument...”

But had it been an argument, really? In the end, Leorio never got the chance to talk to Kurapika properly after he had stood up and left. He literally disappeared from the face of the earth only to show up at Leorio's bedside in the hospital two weeks later. Leorio had been on too many painkillers then to ask himself who might have notified his neighbor about what happened and where he had been brought to.

 

_He does not realize he is not alone until Kurapika speaks up._

_The sandy curtains are still drawn and they filter the early morning light, painting the hospital room in shades of sepia. The heart monitor of his roommate is capturing enough of his attention to keep him from falling asleep again, but he's not really awake either, mind floating aimlessly._

“ _You're unfair, you know.”_

_Leorio does not have the strength to move. Or to argue. Or anything, really._

“ _I can't even get mad at you when you're in this condition.”_

“ _Yes, that is totally the reason why I put myself in front of a car, because everything has to be about you always.” Leorio's voice rings quietly out of his body. Leorio does not remember speaking, nor sounding so old, so bitter. With effort, he turns his head, resting his scabbed cheek on the cool side of the pillow, facing the window. Kurapika is a dark specter by the window sill. He made himself small to fit on a chair, legs tucked neatly underneath him._

“ _I know,” he says. Kurapika does not sound quite like himself either. His voice is thick like clay._

“ _It's not visiting hours yet. How d'you get in?”_

_No answer. No movement._

“ _Pika?”_

“ _I'm so sorry.” His voice cracks._

_Leorio slurs, “I'm not pissed at you over the dumb fight. I just wanted to be friends.”_

_The chair creaks as Kurapika unravels the lump of his shape into a proper, recognizable silhouette, putting one foot to the floor, then the other. He stands hunched over, bracing himself as if he's cold._

_It's not cold, quite the opposite. (Leorio knows that if the pain will not kill him, the discomfort from the heat will.)_

“ _You look like absolute shit, you know,” Kurapika whispers. Why is he whispering? It's not a damn secret. Parts of Leorio's face underwent the most fascinating color metamorphosis, from red, to black and purple and now fading out to piss yellow. He has not shaved in all those days and the short cropped beard turns his reflection more into a stranger than the injuries could._

“ _I got some cool stitches. The doc says I’ll get real impressive scars. Not as pretty as yours though.”_

“ _That's all right.”_

_Kurapika, Leorio realized with some distant astonishment, is shaking._

“ _Are you crying?”_

“ _No,” Kurapika says, wiping at his puffy, watering eyes._

“ _Liaaaaaar,” Leorio croons and wriggles his arm free. A part of him thinks that this should make him sad too, but it's so nice to be sluggish and detached, to be removed from everything for once. “C'mere, you beautiful mess.”_

_Quiet as a cat, Kurapika slips out of his shoes and onto the bed, careful not to disturb the leg that is plastered stiff and secured on a contraption. That has not been quite what Leorio meant, but Leorio forgot what he wanted in the first place and it is not so bad, after all. Kurapika's head on his shoulder is a bit of a weight, but he still has enough wiggle room for his arm to bend and let his hand drop on that shiny cloud of golden hair. “You're soft and warm like a chick. A cheepin' chick, not a girl chick. Although they are soft and warm too.”_

“ _Are you trying to be funny? Because the only funny thing about you right now is your smell.”_

“ _Your own fault for showing up before the morning wash,” Leorio mumbled, He may be too drugged to care but he was acutely aware of the odor of sour old sweat clogging his every pore, leaving his skin waxy to the touch. He sometimes wants to rub himself raw on a grater just to get rid of it._

“ _I didn't say that I mind,” Kurapika admits quietly. He tugs slightly at Leorio's hospital gown, worrying the fabric between thumb and index finger, like a child rubbing their stuffed animal for comfort._

“ _Why're you always acting so weird, Kurapollito?”_

“ _Leorio.”_

“ _Hm?”_

“ _I want to be friends, too.”_

“ _Nice. That's nice.” Leorio hums and lets his eyelids droop for a second. They hurt in a way that no painkillers can fix and Leorio swears that his eyeballs throb in the rhythm of his heartbeat, but it's not so bad with his thoughts floating away and Kurapika's breath tickling his shoulder. It evens out and Leorio is glad for it. He could almost get comfortable._

“ _How long until you can go home again?”_

_He blinks violently, forcing his eyes open.“The doc says he's going to take me off the strong stuff in a day and then they'll give me some crutches and I'm good to go. Zepile is coming to pick me up.”_

“ _I'll give you my phone number so you can text me whenever you need a thing. I'm just next door, after all. And perhaps I could cook dinner at your place; it's easier to cook for two than for one anyway.”_

“ _Wow. Can't believe I have to be nearly dying for you to be nice to me.”_

 _A wan smile sneaks its way on Kurapika's lips. “Shut up. I_ am _nice to you, in appropriate amounts.”_

“ _But you could be nicer.”_

_Kurapika neither denies nor confirms. From his pocket, he pulls a crimson thread and snakes it a few times around the four fingertips of his left hand. Then he starts pulling up the lowest loops to slip it up over the upper ones. Once he does that on every finger, he winds the thread around again and begins slipping the loops anew. He works with habit; the rhythm of his motions is mesmerizing, calming._

“ _Whatcha doing?”_

“ _Nothing.” Kurapika tugs at the beginning of the thread and all the loosely worked loops tighten to something like a tube. It looks like the yarn sausage that gets pooped out of a knitting nancy and Leorio realizes that's just what it is, just what he does: He knits, using his four fingers as a frame for it._

_Kurapika tells him to sleep. “I'm sure you don't get a lot of that,” he adds._

“ _I wouldn't know. I can't always tell the difference. Between sleeping and not sleeping, I mean. Feels almost the same except sometimes I'm in more pain.”_

“ _I know what you mean. You should still try to find rest.”_

“ _I'm not tired,” Leorio says and no sooner has he finished that sentence when sleep comes over him like a blanket of lead, weighing him down, pulling him under._

_When the nurse wakes him up, only a few hours could have passed, but Leorio's head is remarkably clear. His legs and his chest ache in a manner that is almost politely distant, a throbbing nuisance that is persistent, but not so piercing that it would take up all of his attention._

_Kurapika has completely disappeared, but the dent in the covers where he lay is still warm and a red knitted ribbon is tied securely around Leorio's wrist._

 

Kurapika took another gulp and then stared down into his cup as if the black drink concealed secrets at the bottom of it. A range of emotions disturbed his features. Leorio recognized anger, pain and something else, something less frantic. It took him a while to realize that this was what shame looked like in Kurapika's face: downcast eyes and knit brows and a quiver of the jaw. But the anger prevailed. It always did. “I needed some time alone. I was upset with you for rejecting me. And I decided to leave you and your spirit problem to your own devices. I didn't think– I never thought it could get that bad. My greatest mistake was not considering that you must have gotten quite upset about this too.”

Leorio had no idea what Kurapika was hinting at and he said so. The only thing he could take from this was that Kurapika's people skills were whack. Which he already knew. But he failed to see how this had anything to do with... spirits? Being run over by a car? And how was that supposed to be Kurapika's fault?

“Spirits are usually drawn to emotions. They feed on them, because human emotions are a strong and replenishable source of energy, some spirits have evolved to influence humans to yield their desired emotion. There's a rare kind of pest among them, an amorphous, semi-sentient and malicious entity. We call them tonpas. A tonpa looks like a cloud, it swirls around its host and messes with their reflexes. In other words, they make them clumsy. Tonpas like to haunt irritable people, because they feed on anger. Or pure magical potential, if they can. Also, when people get clumsy and injure themselves, they often bleed. Blood is a strong binding agent between the physical and the spiritual, that is to say your mind – a spirit can draw more energy from you when you bleed. And the more energy they draw, the stronger they can influence their host. It's a vicious circle. When I... finally checked on you, a few days after your accident, you were swarmed by four of them, already fat and vicious.”

“But you didn't visit me until... god, how many days after I they brought me to the ER? Nine? Ten?”

“Actually,” Kurapika paused, drumming his fingers against the side of the cup like spider legs. “I'm not sure if I told you this before, but it's not like spirits can be seen with a naked eye, even by clairvoyants like me. So when I say I checked up on you, I meant from the spiritual layer.”

“You've been spying on me from another plane of existence?”

“I haven't been spying, exactly – I made it part of my sessions to chase away any lingering spirits, during hours of the night when you were fast asleep, to grant you your privacy. And I refrained from doing so when you had... 'female company'. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I've been cleaning up after you. And now that you are wearing your protective charms, there's no need for this anymore.”

Leorio was suddenly very glad that he usually slept tightly cocooned in his covers. Not much to see. It was kinda creepy, but not creepier than being sucked dry by a swarm of invisible parasites. “Fine, I believe you. But you said it's never been that bad before.”

“No. You're an unprecedented case. The average person – the average _magic user_ gets haunted by a tonpa maybe every odd year. I've not yet heard of someone being bothered by more than one, much less four tonpas. No surprise your bad luck escalated that quickly.”

“So you're saying,” he said slowly, “There was no way to predict what happened and you still wanna blame yourself?”

“You catch them more often than anyone. And I left you with no way to ward them off because I was being petty. So yes, that was my mistake.”

Leorio stared at his hands: first the palms, then his knuckles, then at the bracelet tied around his wrist. Red and yellow and white strings shaped a diamond pattern. His skin was still marked with pink scars and russet scabs, but Leorio had not needed a new plaster ever since he started wearing the charm. “I always thought my bad luck came from my curse. That I was punished for... having _thoughts_ , you know.”

“Leorio, that's awful,” Kurapika said quietly. He was leaning slightly forward, then thought better of it and put his hands firmly on his thighs, balling them to fists. “It's not right that you should have to worry about this in the first place – you have a curse breaker in your family, it would have been his duty to explain the basics to you.”

“Ging and I aren't exactly on the friendliest terms.”

“Doesn't matter. You had every right to know that there was no need for you to worry about controlling your every thought!” Kurapika spat. His voice was swelling, growing louder the more agitated he became. “I can't believe it! Curses only affect the body. They may take quite a toll on the caster's mental and bodily health, but not the afflicted person. I am going to confront your cousin about this, I don't care if he is a Freecs, he will not get away with such irresponsible behavior.”

Zepile peeked his head into the living room at the sound of harsh judgment and Ging being dragged. Leorio tried to shoo him away, to no avail. He sat down casually on the armrest of the sofa, far from where Kurapika sat... who kept talking, unfazed, “He could have at least explained to you the basic types of curses, because then you would have known that chastening curses require a condition and a punishment, which must be defined clearly. The curse in the diary is a compelling kind, those ensure that certain conditions are met at all times; if they influence progeny, such as yours, they are even considered eugenic.”

The word 'progeny' struck a memory. “' _I want my progeny free from queerness, no one of my blood shall be burdened with this heresy.'_ That's what it said. That's exactly what it said. And I don't want to be a nitpicky nitpicker, but I know what _queer_ means.”

“Well, if it meant what you think it meant, then neither you nor your great-grandmother Leona would have even been _born_. There's no wriggle room.”

“When was the diary written?” Zepile asked suddenly.

“1888,” Leorio replied. “Why?”

“Well, that's long before queer was used as a slur for gay people. Hell, I think that was even before the term 'homosexuality' was coined.”

“Hercule Poirot here is right,” Kurapika acknowledged with a nudge of his head. “You really can't be blamed for misunderstanding, but you need to consider everything in the right context. This includes the events that motivated Esau Freecs to cast this highly vicious and dangerous curse in the first place – it's possible that the repercussions of casting it might have killed him eventually, but I digress. Fact is, Esau Freecs was a magic user, but he was in no way involved with the Order of Alchemists despite having been offered to join multiple times. He was highly skeptical of them, even referring to them as a 'shadow society' on multiple occasions.”

Zepile snorted. “Why, you're acting like they aren't controlling a major part of the economy.”

Kurapika glared at Zepile. “We had to turn our services into a niche market to avoid being exploited by capitalism, to avoid struggling like other artistic professions. People act as if we're running some kind of underworld just because they don't like the prices we set. And most of the Order's funds are used for academic purposes, to ensure that our people are free to conduct researches no matter if they are profitable or not. We don't sit on our money like dragons.” Kurapika was waiting with a mien darker than thunder, daring Zepile to disagree. When no reply came, he turned his attention back to Leorio. “Either way, Freecs had an ailment that could only be treated with alchemical remedies, so he had no choice but to hire a Quacksalver. Yes, that still used to be a valid profession at the time. The treatment is written down in minute detail and despite the fact that he lost all his teeth and all his hair, his wrinkles smoothed and his ailment disappeared. Unfortunately, so did his virility. And yet his beautiful young wife got with child. And the only other man who frequented their household was, well... make a wild guess. So naturally, that did nothing to cure Esau from his paranoia regarding alchemists – which led to the following passage.”

 

**3**

 

_Do not trust the peacocks, they are a dishonest, treacherous bunch. They keep to themselves, hide in the shadows of their temples, they lie and pollute what they touch. Well, they will not have me and they will not have my children, or my sister's children. I want my progeny free from queerness, they shall not be burdened with this heresy._

_This will be my curse, my last work of magic:_

_My blood and flesh will wield no more spells._

 

**4**

 

“I would've cut off this peacock's pea-cock,” Zepile muttered and added, louder, addressing Leorio. “But that would explain why you thought peacock referred to gay people.”

“Yeah,” Leorio said hoarsely. He scratched his neck and stared at his feet. Years of his life. All the opportunities he missed out on. He could have danced with Pietro on their senior prom. He could have dared to be closer to Pietro, not even in a romantic sense, but he didn't dare to do all the small things that you did to show a person that you loved them. He had been afraid of hugging Pietro, and he had never told him that being with him felt more like family than his actual family. Leorio might have prevented that they drifted apart.

He could have openly flirted with cute guys just because he felt like it.

He could have kissed Kurapika.

He had spent all his life in the closet, thinking that he had no _choice_.

His eyes stung. Leorio brought his fist down so hard on his knees that Kurapika and Zepile jumped in their seats. The pain traveled up his leg like a shock, leaving numbness in its wake. Leorio embraced the sensation and he enjoyed having an excuse for the tears that welled up again. As calmly as possible, he said, “So it means... queerness refers to magic?”

Zepile pretended not to see, not to notice that Leorio's enunciation was a bit too polished and stiff because he put some strenuous effort into it. Kurapika stared, wide-eyed like a cat, his mouth slightly parted, still grappling whether he should ask if Leorio was okay or not.

Leorio was not okay, but he was holding himself together and that was all that mattered right now. And if they could just keep on talking over the inconvenient thoughts in his mind, then maybe he could deal with how much he was not okay later, in private.

Zepile cleared his throat and leaned over to give Kurapika's shoulder a shove. “The man asked you a question.”

And Kurapika looked so _offended,_ god, rubbing the spot where he'd been touched. “It does,” he said, shooting a last glare of homicidal intent in Zepile's direction, before turning back to Leorio. “You're related to a few of the most prominent alchemical families. Even the Paladiknights – I mean Sonia Freecs' husband was nothing more than a hedge magician, the weakest of his family but he had _some_ potential and so their daughter, Leona, should have been just strong enough to catch the interest of the Order, but there was nothing. Not the tiniest spark. And Leona's wife was an average person, without any magical talent, so no one bothered to check their son if he showed any signs. The generations that followed married mundane spouses as well – with the exception of your father – so I guess in a way the curse succeeded to fulfill Esau's wish because your family has not moved in alchemical circles for four generations.”

“My mom was magic?”

Leorio remembered precious few things about his mother, considering that she just up and went one night when he was seven years old and left him with nothing but a vague note of apology. A week later strangers showed up on their doorstep with suitcases full of questions. It caused quite a stir in the sleepy backwater town that Leorio was born in and rumors spawned about his mother being a marriage swindler... the stir grew into a proper scandal, one that sent his father pacing and raging. Leorio still received mysterious birthday presents every year, each without a sign of where they had been sent from or who sent them – so she had to be alive, he guessed, unless he had another anonymous benefactor.

But that also meant that he hadn't been able to provide Kurapika with any information on her family. The best he could do was dig up pictures of her, copy the marriage certificate of his parents and remember when her birthday had been.

“Your mother was a Coppola, a descendant of the European alchemist Coppelius Coppola. Their family always had quite of a questionable reputation among their peers, mainly because they still consider gold making a branch of research worth pursuing, but they have quite the magical potential, yes. Unfortunately, Rosa Coppola – your mother – decided to use hers to cheat people out of their money.”

Zepile held up his hand. “Okay, one question. Who the fuck cares about how powerful the rest of his family is? I mean, really. How is that in any way relevant if Leo is still going to be as magical as a pile of dog shit by the end of the day?”

“You couldn't have used a nicer comparison?” Leorio complained.

“Are you so sure about that?” Kurapika asked, ignoring the moping. “You need magic to influence magic. So either Leorio possesses a magic potential he's not aware of – which would have to be _vast_ considering his heritage–”

“You said there's no wiggle room with this damn curse,” Zepile interrupted.

“No, I said there's no wiggle room in being born straight or not. There are plenty of ways in which magic can express itself that do not disagree with the wording of the curse. For example, there are people who can only use their magic to perceive, but they cannot wield it. And in order to be granted the title of an alchemist you need to prove that you're more than a one trick pony. And then there is a small amount of people who used to be mundane but have been altered by magic, usually due to a curse. Werewolves, for example. Anyone who had been, purposefully or accidentally, turned immortal. Which is not the case with Leorio, obviously, but... well, every force has an opposing force. It would be a far stretch, but people have been looking for ways to create anti-magic for years now, in an attempt to prove it. Magic surfaces during puberty, Leorio's body could have developed anti-magic naturally to avoid becoming a paradox. Hypothetically speaking. Leorio seems to be drawn to magic objects, so at the very least it could be worth our time to find out if he has magic potential or not. I would like to come back tomorrow with a friend, to try a little test. Although–” Kurapika's eyes scanned the room once more, unveiled repulsion on his face. “I suppose I could find a different place to meet up, something a little more... _presentable_.”

“This place would look just fine if certain people decided to show up with advance notice, at fucking reasonable hours of the day,” Zepile bickered.

“I showed up here as soon as I figured out that there had been an error in the interpretation of the curse because I considered that something as important as that would tolerate no delay. You are free to correct me on that, of course.”

'You are free to correct me' was Kurapika's very eloquent way of saying 'fight me, asshole.' It was not the kind of invitation one should accept if one wanted to get out of an argument unscathed.

Leorio sat up straighter. “Didn't you sleep?”

“I slept last afternoon, so I could do my research in the temple library overnight. It's less crowded then, considering that the other alchemists are either sleeping or meditating or working.” Kurapika shrugged, then added almost softly, “Don't worry about it.”

As if Leorio could _stop_. It had not escaped his attention that Kurapika had been awfully nice this morning, at least by Kurapika standards. Not a single friendly insult had left his lips ever since he stepped into the apartment. He hoped that was a good sign.

“What about the rest of the Freecs family?” Zepile asked, tapping impatiently on his knee. “How come none of them are affected by the curse?”

“That's simple,” Leorio sighed. “None of them are related to great-great-granduncle Esau by blood. The curse only affects biological children. Although...” His brows furrowed. “Wait. Children. Plural. And he was sterile by the time he made the curse, so he must have had more than one at this time already. But I don't have any more family aside from Ging, Mito, and Gon. What happened to the rest of them?”

“I'm not sure yet,” Kurapika said. “Freecs had two children from a previous affair, but the diary does not give their names and the official family tree only lists Don Freecs as a son, who ironically had not been fathered by Esau at all. Which leaves us with... not much, to be honest.”

**  
**5** **

 

Zepile wanted to cry with relief when the magician finally did a disappearing act through the door. He had been itching for a smoke for half an hour and even if he thought that Kurapika was a stuck up little prick, Zepile's momma taught him better than to smoke around nonsmokers. And Kurapika was a nonsmoker, if Zepile had ever seen one, what with all his nose wrinkling and judging looks over the sight of an ashtray.

He was rolling himself a smoke in the kitchen when Leorio came back from the living room bringing the dirty coffee mugs and putting them in the already crowded sink. The kitchen, like every other room in this apartment, was a bit of a mess, a bit dirty and way too crammed. Zepile had bought the furniture from a bunch of students and god knew where they had it from. There were scratched strawberry stickers on the yellow cupboards, and where the stickers peeled off one could see that the surface used to be white. What kind of idiot buys a white kitchen? Zepile knew he should probably do _something_ with this room, like paint the walls a cheerful pumpkin orange to make the shitty furniture look paler in comparison. He just couldn't be arsed.

“I thought you wanted to make pancakes?” Leorio asked, with no real hurry. He had barely touched his own mug of coffee, Zepile realized. Which was not that much of a surprise, considering how Leorio had hung on Kurapika's lips, soaking up every word that this little blond devil said.

 

“ _Leorio seems to be drawn to magic objects.”_

Too bad it wasn't just objects he was drawn to.

“The batter is in the fridge, setting,” Zepile said. “I'll take out the pans in a minute, I just needed a break. Your friend's quite a handful.”

“Yeah, he is,” Leorio offered a troubled grin, that was too lopsided and fond and most definitely _proud_. Fucker. He had no business placing his affections on people that could not be trusted; Leorio would only get hurt. And then Zepile would have to hurt the person responsible for Leorio's misery.

Leorio took a sip from his now cold coffee and winced. He said, “Not like you're one to talk. He literally just asked me if you have a setting that comes without all the dick talk and if you could find it by tomorrow.”

“I scandalized him, really?” Zepile chuckled and got a box of matches from the cutlery drawer. He lit his cigarette and opened the kitchen window, blowing the first draw of smoke right out into the fresh air. That, too, was basic decency. “Prude people are so cute.”

Leorio grumbled something inaudible before he loosened his friendship bracelet, slipped it off his wrist and put it in his pant pockets. He poured soap and hot water in the sink until it foamed and steamed. “I know you don't like him too much, but there are people who get uncomfortable if a literal stranger forces some sauciness on them, so could you be on your best behavior tomorrow? If not for him, then for me? And his guest who has nothing to do with the weird feud you have going on.”

Zepile made a noncommittal sound as he watched the wisp of smoke curl upwards from the tip of his cigarette. He spared a glance to Leorio's back every now and then, which was taut with tension. “Are you gonna be alright? You looked like you were about to cry earlier.”

“It's been a tough week.” Leorio hissed when he dipped his hands in the water. He always made it so hot it was almost scorching. If Zepile hadn't known better, he would have thought that Leorio was burning himself on purpose.

“You know what you need?” he asked. There were many answers to this questions. A masseur. A therapist. And more friends, to be honest. The poor fellow needed so many things even though he pretended he could do without them, as if he wasn't the softest and gentlest cop anyone had ever seen. But Zepile didn't say any of these things; what he said was, “You could use a good lay to get some of the stress out of your system. I know a nice little bar–”

“I'm not interested.”

“You don't even have to hook up with anybody. You can just sit there and swim in the attention you get, have some nice hunk buy you a drink...”

“You're talking about a _gay_ bar? I found out that my shitty ass curse doesn't give a damn about how queer I am less than an hour ago and you already want to yank me out of the closet?”

“I'm just saying you should celebrate your newfound freedom by putting yourself out there. Test the water a little. It could help you adjust.”

“Well, maybe I don't wanna put myself out there. Maybe I don't like the idea of hitting it up with a total stranger.” Leorio was scrubbing the cups so hard that the rag squeaked. “I didn't try to get rid of this curse just so I could fuck a dude. I tried to get rid of it so I could stop feeling guilty about wanting to even _kiss_ one or hold hands. If it was just about the sex, I know a nice girl with the right kind of toys that I can call anytime. But it's not. It's about not fucking up with any guy I ever cared about just because I spent every waking moment avoiding touching him in any way that could be considered a little bit too affectionate.”

“Okay,” Zepile said.

“Okay?” Leorio echoed incredulously. “That's all you have to say about that?”

“Well, I always assumed you never made up your mind about what you wanted from life after you get rid of the curse. That's why I wanted to offer you a place to start figuring stuff out. If I was wrong about that, even better. Just know that if you change your mind about hooking up, I know just the right places to go to. And I know which guys to avoid.”

“Zep. I really appreciate your offer, but you're barking up the wrong gay. _Guy_. Goddammit.” With an exasperated sigh, Leorio wiped a hand over his forehead, accidentally smearing tufts of foam all over his hairline. “Listen. The only thing you can offer me right now is a damn cigarette.”

“You quit.”

“Well, I'm going to quit quitting.”

Zepile shrugged and held his cigarette in front of Leorio's face, who caught it with his teeth. He took a pull until the tip glowed like a firefly and exhaled with a deep, guttural moan that sounded like music to Zepile's ears. “Care to hook me up with that well-equipped girl of yours?” he asked with a grin.

 

**6**

 

Leorio's hand hovered over a row of marbles. Black glass, milky glass, transparent turquoise glass, two of each kind. His fingers twitched with indecision. He let out a droning _mmm_ that swilled up with increasing confusion.

“You can always pass,” the lady offered. Her voice was sweet as honey, enticing as a symphony. No one would call her beautiful in that way that meant 'conventionally attractive and awe-inspiring' and yet Zepile had been almost tripping over his feet to find ways to please her from the moment she crossed the threshold. Suddenly, none of the cups were good enough for this guest, some had cracks, others were old and faded or discolored from tea and coffee.

Kurapika could have taken offense that no one had granted him the same treatment, but he did not begrudge Melody that she was being spoiled, quite the opposite.

He just wished Zepile would make less of a ruckus in the kitchen, so it was easier to follow the test. Not that they were making much progress.

“I got this, I will find it, just gimme some time,” Leorio bargained.

“No, I meant, sometimes there is just no special marble in a series. Although I can promise you that there is no series in which _all_ of them are special.”

Leorio groaned and buried his hands in his hair, yanking at it in despair as if he was Job facing the loss that God had brought him. “And you only tell me that now? Can I go over the other marbles again?”

Melody smiled at him shyly. “I'm sorry, but I can't let you.”

Kurapika tilted his head, indulging for a moment in the thought of resting his hand against Leorio's nape and telling him to relax and how nice it would be if for once Leorio _did_. Kurapika imagined him cracking his knuckles and burst into a wild grin. Kurapika imagined Leorio sighing and melting against Kurapika's hand. _Fantasies_. By the end of the day, that was all that Kurapika was left with.

He would have given a lot to tell Leorio that he was doing extremely well so far, just for the sake of seeing the dorky face he made when he was praised. But Kurapika was not allowed to interfere or tamper with the test. Only Melody was granted permission to give assistance if she thought the test subject needed it. And it was plainly obvious that Leorio did.

“Perhaps you would do well not to think so hard about it,” she offered. “Don't think of it as something you have to pass. This test has no right or wrong answers: only true ones matter. So don't force it.”

“Alright,” Leorio said. Then again, as if to convince himself, “Alright.” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened them again, he glanced over the row of glass marbles briefly, before pointing his finger on the middle white marble. “That one I think. That's the only one.”

Melody noted something in her notepad. A literal _note_ -pad, since all of the tests results were encoded as musical notes. Even without knowing the code, Kurapika could tell that Leorio's answer was not quite accurate. He had been able to identify the glass piece that held a rather weak spell, but there was an even weaker one in the series that he missed. Well, it didn't matter. Nor did it matter that Leorio made his choice based on how appealing the marbles _looked_ to him, just like the items he picked off the street. Touch was a much more common way of identifying a spell, especially for an adept: any magic user carried part of their power right on the surface. The energy of a spell would cause an interference with this, like ripples on water, which could be felt as a tingling sensation. Leorio lacked this sense, so he compensated with his sight.

Leorio could sense magic, but not use it on his own.

Kurapika kept on hoping that he would find evidence that this did not mean what he thought it meant. He had brought up anti-magic the previous day, already knowing that this was impossible, but it sounded so good, so grand. Hopefully it had overshadowed any of the other possibilities he had listed up. Because next to the werewolves and the immortals there existed another type of not-quite-humans which were somewhat notorious for twisting the rules of magic.

Homunculi.

Kurapika had not considered this a possibility because homunculi knew what they were, what they had been designed for. They were artificial life that had never grown in a womb, synthesized from a mold of rotting organic substances that had been infused with a stolen soul and a lost, corrupted mind. Their existence was disgusting, their nature shrewd and unstable. Leorio had nothing in common with them.

Or so Kurapika wanted to believe.

Studying old family pictures of the Paladiknights, it was easy to see that Leorio had inherited his father's chin and jawline, his thick, stubborn hair, his big hands. He also had his mother's mouth and eyes and her body type. There was no reason not to assume that Leorio was the _very human_ child of his parents. Still, Kurapika had to be wary. Fact was, on the third of March, twenty five years ago, Rosa Paladiknight had given birth to a healthy boy in a public hospital and had given him the name Leorio. This child must have been born with a magical predisposition. Perhaps it grew up into the man who was now facing Melody.

Perhaps the curse took it, like compelling curses are wont to do, and its parents, stricken with grief, did an unforgivable thing. Or perhaps Rosa Paladiknight's greatest con was stealing her own son and leaving a mere copy in the care of her ill-tempered husband, with an apology letter for the changeling.

But Leorio kept on maneuvering through the test.

There was no proper way to prove if someone was a homunculus or not unless their creator had marked them or documented their synthesis, so all that mattered was that Kurapika found enough potential in Leorio to get him approved by the order as an 'alchemist with limited magic use'... and then he would worry about everything else.

Melody closed her notebook, and declared the test as finished.

“So... what happens now?” Leorio asked.

“The results will be evaluated and you should receive a letter from us in about a week with the results. If you passed, you will be granted limited access to the temple, as well as encrypted directions on where to find it.”

“Uh. As nice as that sounds, I don't really think it's a good idea to bring me to a place with other ma–, alchemists I mean, as long as I'm still cursed.”

Melody acknowledged this with a hum and a nod. “I'm just explaining your privileges. It's up to you if you want to make use of them. But you should know that the temple is a good place to look for a tutor if you intend to learn some kind of divination.”

“I don't. I'm not interested in all this, I just want to know how I can stop tampering with other people.”

Kurapika ambled to the sofa and sat down next to Leorio, or at least as close as he was allowed to, leaving enough space for a third person to wedge in between. “You should not be so quick to dismiss this. You have a knack for spotting things. There are ways to train and apply this ability that could benefit you in the long run. In your job, or while interacting with others. At the very least, you will have access to the temple library; you could come to understand yourself better, you could learn more about your family. Oh, and before I forget–” Kurapika pulled a little parcel of waxed paper about the size of an envelope out of his pants pocket. He placed it on the coffee table in front of Leorio. “Wear this. At all times. The spell should last at least two months. You'll know that it needs replacing when the scent starts wearing off. Tell me, and I'll see to it.”

Leorio broke the seal of the wrapping and unfolded it. Buried inside was a silver locket that held a cake of solid perfume in its core, smelling delightfully like citrus, salvia and beeswax. If closed, the scent was rather faint. Surely it would drown under the unmistakable note of cold ash that clung to Leorio's skin. Kurapika could not believe that he had left Leorio to his own devices for 24 hours and what did he do? Started picking up old bad habits. Kurapika found it hard not to blame Zepile for it.

It wasn't like Detective Zepile Zeppeli was the spawn of satan; he was a man who certainly had his charms and good sides... surely. Somewhere. Had Kurapika bothered looking for them. But he was also of the promiscuous sort and Leorio was... well, even if Kurapika would rather die than admit this to another person, Leorio was handsome. He was not _dashing_ in the way the people on TV were, of course, but who was? And a lot of the things Leorio did were just plain unattractive, like his lack of manners or the ridiculous grimaces his face was capable of, or the fact that he could not even be trusted to do his own laundry; all these little things that Kurapika had come to regard with a mixture of endearment, humor and sometimes exasperation.

From Kurapika's perspective of things, Zepile was a seducer. A thorn in his side just for being there, for being a flirt, for being available. Chances were that Zepile had made Leorio an intimate offer the second Kurapika had walked out of the door yesterday. Zepile liked sleeping around; Leorio liked sleeping with women and despite treating them well and his romantic inclinations, not one of them had stayed around for long. Also, Leorio had admitted that he was interested in men, so if an offer had been made, no one could blame Leorio for accepting: Zepile would be a safe option for making first experiences because he was a friend and a fellow cop and therefore discreet. He was also perfectly mundane.

Zepile was many things that Kurapika was not and jealousy burned hot in his throat like acid. He begrudged every little touch that Zepile and Leorio exchanged – their number was few and their nature innocent but it was still more intimacy than Kurapika could indulge in.

There was nothing for him to do except sit there being consumed with envy.

Leorio let the silver chain slip through his fingers and ran his thumb over the relief of the locket, which depicted a swan with his wings raised as if to ward off a threat. “It's pretty,” he said quietly. “Does the bird mean anything?”

Kurapika was about to say that no, the shape of the locket had no significance, when Zepile called for assistance from the kitchen. In fact, his exact words were, “Hey, uh, could someone maybe lend me a hand here? And by someone I mean Kurapika.” Real subtle.

Leorio was startled. He scrunched up his whole face as he turned his attention to the wall behind him that separated the living room from the kitchen. He mouthed a 'what the fuck'.

“He might not have heard that you were finished with the test, for all the racket he was making. No, don't–” Kurapika urged when Leorio slipped the locket over his head and made an attempt to get up. “It's fine. I'll go.”

He was quick on his feet because he did not want to give Leorio enough time to protest.

The kitchen counter was as crowded as a flea market table when Kurapika entered. Zepile, who was busy storing away the surplus ceramic ware, scoffed lightly. “Didn't think you'd actually come,” he said.

“Didn't think you knew my proper name, for all you were avoiding to use it,” Kurapika fired back.

Zepile did not point out that he could say the same; instead he pointed at a meager assortment of teas that was nearly hidden behind 5 ugly sugar bowls. “Can you set up a can of tea? I was going to, until I realized that I had no idea which one you guys would prefer, for all I know you might be allergic to one of the herbs or fruits.”

“You could have just asked,” Kurapika offered as he picked up the water boiler nonetheless.

“That's not the only thing I was going to ask.”

So he was out for a _conversation_. How surprising. Kurapika decided to play along. “Melody likes fennel or lemon balm. I see you have neither, so I suppose Darjeeling will have to do.” He fumbled with the water boiler by the tap, trying to figure out how the lid opened. Whatever happened to using kettles? “What about Leorio? He doesn't drink any tea at all.”

“I still have instant coffee, so maybe don't use up all the hot water. And, you know, don't use up all of Leorio either.”

“Pardon?” He must have misheard. Kurapika finally found the button that popped open the lid of the water boiler. Zepile got in his personal space just as he was about to fill it up. He loomed over Kurapika, poring over him the way tall people did when they wanted you to feel small as a bug. Kurapika had seen it too often to be impressed.

“You heard me.” Zepile kept his voice barely above a whisper, lest they should be overheard. “I'm not sure what you want from Leorio, but I know how your people work. You take whoever you want, whenever you want to and then you're not satisfied until you transform them into something that you consider useful.”

“Do you believe every lie that people tell about alchemists or just those who feed your paranoia, I'm curious,” Kurapika hissed. He could feel his anger flare up, ready to burn into his veins at the merest excuse. The _nerve_ of this man, to swing himself on a high horse and act like he had any right judging the ways of a community he knew nothing about. Kurapika put the water boiler down with more force than necessary.

“Well, I ain't wrong, am I? You've already started changing him, going on about how he has abilities and how he should work on them. You're making him into one of your own, shoving him into the arms of the Order like they have any right to make a claim on him. Well, let me tell you now I'm not having any of it.”

“Are you threatening me? _Me?_ That's cute.” Kurapika could not help the low sardonic laughter that spilled from his mouth; it was a twisted parody of the joyful noises that floated in from the living room, where Leorio and Melody seemed to get along nicely. He wished he could have understood what they were saying, but it was drowned out by the sound of his blood rushing in his ears.

“I'm warning you. He's a person, not a thing for you to play with. So if you intend to keep on showing up at my doorstep, you better fucking prove that your intentions are good or I'll take this to the captain. I'll even file an official complaint. And then it won't matter how friendly he's with you.”

Zepile was indeed threatening him. Effectively so. The police's means of investigating or supervising all things magical were limited; if the suspicion arose that Kurapika was abusing his power or influence, a committee of high-ranking temple officials would be sent to investigate the case, none of them involved with Kurapika or the temple he belonged to – and then he would have to justify and explain his every action. At the very least, he would not be allowed to spend time with Leorio without a chaperone present.

Kurapika was sick of facing obstacles. He was sick of distance, sick of Zepile's attitude.

He pictured himself driving a 2,5 mm knitting needle in Zepile's side, just to shut him up.

He pictured himself bashing Zepile's forehead on the counter.

He could not move or speak until the violent intrusive thoughts passed. He pressed his teeth together so hard it almost hurt.

“So I'm asking you now, an' I'm asking you nicely: what the fuck is it you want from him?”

Zepile squared up his shoulders. Kurapika acted unimpressed and pushed past him to get his hands on a porcelain jug. Busying himself with simple tasks like preparing the tea infuser, filling the jug, and setting the timer gave him some time to force his mind back in a clearer, more organized state. He did not feel like he owed Zepile an answer, so he offered a question instead.

“Is it really so impossible to believe that I just have Leorio's best interests in mind?”

“Considering that the law of equivalent exchange exists?” Zepile asked in an agitated whisper. “Yes.”

Kurapika replied in the same hushed tone. “The law of equivalent exchange is exactly that: a _law_. Applied to business contracts. It exists for the sole purpose to set down standards for non-materialistic payments that will allow everyone to use the Order's services, regardless of their income and while some like to incorporate it as a day-to-day philosophy, I was raised better than that.” Zepile opened his mouth, no doubt to spout either disbelief or an outright insult, well, Kurapika wouldn't let him finish. “If there's anything I want from Leorio, I'll just ask him, I wouldn't have to go through all this effort just to get something out of this. I don't claim to be selfless, but I _am_ his friend, no matter how much you want to believe the opposite. It's not my fault that your idea of help is different from mine.”

“What you're doing is a little too eager for helping.”

“I know what it's like to lose family to a curse. Granted, his is of a different caliber but there's no way it isn't in some way tied to his affliction. He keeps on hurting people because of it, he keeps on distancing himself from others to protect them and that's no way of living for anyone, much less Leorio.”

Zepile fell silent. He seemed to ponder over this, until he finally said, “He's just too damn soft for his own good.” It was the closest thing to an agreement they had achieved in quite a while.

The kitchen timer rang.

Kurapika fished the infuser out of the the jug and left it in the sink. Granting Zepile one last challenging glance, he picked up the jug and turned to leave the kitchen. He walked with urgency, not quite rushing, but with enough vigor in his step that he just merely escaped disaster when Leorio appeared right in his path.

They both stopped violently, letting out synchronized gasps. Tea sloshed over the brim and spilled on the tiles in a loud splat.

Kurapika cursed under his breath.

Leorio cursed a little more loudly. “Shit, sorry.”

“No, that was my fault.”

“I just wanted to check if everything was alright in here since you two were so damn quiet,” Leorio apologized, tugging at his hair again. If he kept that up, he would be bald before he turned thirty.

“Do you have a rag in here that's not paint-stained?”, Kurapika asked, defeated.

“I'll see if I can find one. Don't worry, I'll clean this up.”

“Leorio,” Kurapika chided softly, “I can clean up my own messes.”

“I insist. Just go through.”

His lips drew an unhappy line, but Kurapika caved in. He moved, placing one foot at the right side of the puddle, just as Leorio took a step to the side too.

“What are you doing?” Kurapika demanded to know.

“Making way for you so you can pass through.” Leorio frowned. “What are _you_ doing?”

“The same, I suppose.” Kurapika shifted his weight back to the left. Despite the spill, the jug seemed to get heavier by the minute and his hand started to hurt. Tea droplets fell from the bottom of the jug and splashed into the puddle.

“Maybe you should give me that.”

“I can't, you need to grab it by the handle–” the same handle that Kurapika had his now shaking fingers wrapped around. There was no way they could pass it between them without touching. Leorio still reached out and tried, except he went for different parts than expected. “No, not the bottom, Leorio, it's hot.”

But he just chuckled and said, almost flirtatiously, “Who says I don't know how to handle a hot botto– fuck, you're right.” He withdrew his hand and shook it. “Shit.”

“Can you just take a step back? I'm not sure how long I can still hold it.”

Zepile swept in with a dishcloth, quick as a hawk, calling them both fools. He wrapped the cloth around the hot ceramic and took the jug from Kurapika, which stopped the fussing nicely. They stared at him, still frozen in action. Then Leorio cleared his throat. He pressed his back to the wall to take up as little space as possible and gestured for Kurapika to pass through... who smiled reassuringly as he walked past, brushing against the door frame. A few centimeters more off and he would have bumped his shoulders against the wood, just because he couldn't stop looking at Leorio Fucking Paladiknight.

Leorio's mouth slipped into a lopsided grin. It looked dopey and utterly unappealing. And yet Kurapika could feel something inside his chest swell up until it strained against the confines of his ribcage, crawling up his throat, aching to be released. Words tickled his tongue, words that he refused to speak. Leorio all but slunk into the kitchen – and placed his foot right into the tea puddle.

Zepile groaned. “I can't believe they let you solve crimes.”

Leorio started to fuss.

Kurapika made an effort to tear away his eyes – and was startled to find Melody right before him.

“Kurapika,” she said softly, gently.

He stopped. “Don't say it.”

But she did not have to utter a word. She could hear the truth from the way his breath sighed through his chest, from the elated rhythm of his heart, just as clearly as if he had told her.

He was in love.

Melody smiled knowingly. “Leorio has been telling me about a few memories from his childhood. He seems a very honest young man, I could not find a single lie, at least not one that he would be aware of. It seems your concern was unfounded.”

Kurapika sighed. “That's some good news, at least.”

She took his hands in her small ones. “I'm sure the rest will work out just as well. You both have determined heartbeats; and he values you deeply. You should hold onto that, whenever your will falters.”

“Thank you.”

 

 **7**

 

Esau Freecs had fathered two children, Romy and Remy. There was not much to be said about Remy: he had not left many marks in history or even his father's diary. He liked to argue and get drunk and then argue some more. Perhaps that was why, by the time Esau Freecs wrote the curse that should change his family forever, his only biological son was already dead.

He was found in the gutter, his skull smashed open like an overripe pumpkin.

Romy's life ended not quite as gruesome, yet just as early. According to their mentor, Romy was a promising young alchemist when suddenly, all of their magic just failed. They could still draw on it, they could just not translate it.

Romy left the Order of Alchemists and disappeared, never to be seen again. They left a farewell letter for their mentor, apologizing that they turned out such a disappointment. It read:

 

_I cannot stand this anymore. I wish I knew what has moved my father to burden me with such a punishment, but I am not sure if I could stand to look in his face after what he has turned me into. My magic is no longer my own; I am of no use to myself like this, all I can do is feed another person with my power._

_Oh, if you could only know how it feels, to call it up and feel it seep through your fingers. It's as if I am bleeding out. I know that I can still have a place among you, that I could still make myself useful to the community. But what am I, if I can not be the dictator of my own magic? A tool, a mere source._

_I refuse to live like that. I refuse to inflict such a wretched fate upon an innocent child, so I will not have any. I can only hope that my nieces and nephews will fare better with this than I._

 

**8**

 

Leorio strode through the basement of the police department, his back straight and his spirits high. He had every reason to be in a good mood: a week after the fire, the good news finally rolled in.

His landlord called to tell him that he didn't give two shits about who housed in which apartment as long as the rent was paid, but Leorio was free to sign a tenancy agreement for the apartment next to his own once Kurapika's expired. He even heard back from the insurance company; they offered Leorio far less than what he had hoped for, but more than enough to pay for the paint job that Kurapika's apartment needed.

He had also received an official-looking letter from the Order of Alchemists, sigul and all, with the results of his sensitivity test. They called him a 'promising young man' who was 'free to turn to the nearest temple in pursuit of guidance and knowledge' and coined him with the rank of an adept, whatever that meant. Well, it meant he had something to show off, right?

The air in the basement was cooler than in the rest of the department, but also dryer to preserve the documents in the archives, which was exactly where Leorio was headed. He passed the shelves one by one, not heading anywhere in particular, but searching all the same.

He came to a sudden stop when he encountered another person, who browsed around scanning the labels on the boxes with their hands as much as their eyes. Leorio stepped next to them and dipped his head and voice low. In a conspirative whisper, he said, “We have to stop meeting like this, darling. People will _talk_.”

Kurapika chortled and immediately covered his mouth to silence this tumbling sound, but his shoulders and chest still shook from amusement. “Oh, dear. Now we're in a pinch, you rediscovered your _humor_. Never thought I'd live to see the day.”

Leorio never thought he'd get to see Kurapika in formal wear either, yet he he found his neighbor donning something akin to a suit – black pants and a matching blazer over a yellow shirt with black pinstripes. The shirt was not buttoned all the way up, drawing attention to Kurapika's slender neck and the delicate dip of his clavicle. That sight was a blessing and Leorio thanked the lady Destiny for making it happen.

“Yes, this is just like me, always another surprise up my sleeve. I've got curses, I've got charms, no wonder I'm so popular.”

“Too bad the only entities that are after you are just trying to mooch off your energy. You're like a sugar daddy for spirits,” Kurapika needled. “Except all you get in return is bad luck and anxiety. Also, I need you to hold my hand.” He pulled a box off the shelf and blew over it, dispersing puffs of dust. He opened the lid and stared at the contents critically.

“Are you starting to feel faint because I'm so irresistible?”

“No, Leorio,” Kurapika said as if talking to a child, “I require your assistance for a little demonstration. That's why I asked you to meet me here.”

“... You're being serious?”

“Very.” Kurapika smiled, a little sly, a little coy.

Leorio squinted. “May I remind you why this is a bad idea?”

“I have a theory that I'd like to test. Don't worry, it's perfectly safe. Besides, Mizaistom will intervene if anything goes wrong. Which it won't, but he still insists that his presence is necessary.”

“I'd like to remind you–” Captain Nana's voice floated in from the other side of the shelf and Leorio nearly squeaked with surprise. “That this is still my department and I'd like to know what my men are capable of.”

“Oh, so _that's_ why you picked me as a consultant?” Kurapika asked dryly. “What a shame, I thought I had convinced you with my impressive criminal record.”

“This is no joking matter, Kurapika.”

Ironically, the fact that only a handful of the cops who were working under Mizaistom Nana had a clear criminal record was the department's most popular running joke. Zepile, for example, used to forge artwork and secured himself a minimal prison sentence by ratting out all of the dealers he was supplying. Pokkle, the tiny guy who was part of the special victim's unit, was a former mandrake addict. There were even rumors about the Captain himself although no one seemed to agree on which crime to associate with him. Leorio felt like a freshman among his coworkers; the most illegal thing he had ever done was eat a few hash brownies. And he had not even been caught.

Captain Nana's head appeared first on the far end of the shelf, when he came around to meet them walking backwards. He balanced a small stack of file boxes on his arms. Leorio tried not to look like a man who had just been caught sort-of-flirting with his coworker, but the Captain rarely paid him any mind. “Any luck with that box?”

Kurapika combed a hand through his hair and ruffled it up. “Looks like the evidence contains both blood and hair samples, hopefully both from the girl. The material is too old for a general seeking spell but maybe I can trigger a vision. I will also need a canary bird and maybe some of her old possessions, if the orphanage still has any,” he said as if that was a perfectly normal request. Perhaps it was; or perhaps Leorio was working with a bunch of absolute madmen, because the captain nodded solemnly and _agreed_. “Understood. Please tell me the bird is going to survive whatever you're planning with it.”

“Most likely. The _Kommt ein Vogel geflogen_ seeking spell is rather... unreliable in its results, but it works best if the person you're seeking has a bird's name. And if you use the matching bird. But sometimes it's too much stress for their little hearts.”

Captain Nana grimaced. “I will not _borrow_ a bird, then.”

“That seems wise,” Kurapika said. He put the lid back on the box and nodded towards the stack that the captain carried. “You can put those aside, I'll look through them in a minute. Leorio, do you know how spell casting works?”

Leorio frowned. “Not really, no.”

Kurapika unbuttoned his blazer. He shrugged out of it and dropped it on top of the case box, then rolled up his sleeves. Leorio's brain took a bit to kick into gear and point out that _he rolled up his sleeves_ , unfazed about what he was revealing. Leorio glanced nervously at his boss. Mizaistom Nana did not flinch or furrow his brows or even comment on the white scars that spread all over Kurapika's forearms. Which... made sense, now that Leorio thought about it. Of course he would know about the scars if he and Kurapika were... close.

“Mizai?” Kurapika said, pulling a hairpiece from his wrist. He tied his hair into a tiny ponytail.

The captain put down the stack and crossed his arms before his chest. “Spells are crafted, literally. If you want a spell to have a purpose, you need to translate your magical potential into a medium you're comfortable with. Which can be anything, as long as it contains an act of creation.”

“Basically, yes. You see–” Kurapika's eyes were on Leorio. “Your uncle was a writer, so he worked his curse into prose. A singer would hum or sing their spells, a musician would work their magic through their instruments. And I–”

“You're a knitter,” Leorio finished because it dawned him just now that this was what Kurapika had done during his short hospital visit: he had cast a spell. Which would explain why Leorio had felt so much better after his little nap or why his recovery had gone so smoothly. Because Kurapika was a knitter and a sneaky little bastard to boot.

“Exactly. Now, because of that there are no schoolbook instructions on how to do magic, the only kind of knowledge that can be shared is how a spell is supposed to _feel_ and which materials are better suited than others. There are a few simpler spells, like the one I just mentioned, that are based on nursery rhymes or folk songs, but those only work if you grew up with them. So nowadays, alchemist families make a habit out of collecting them and passing them on to their children. But aside from that, every magic user has to figure it out on their own.”

“That sounds unnecessarily difficult,” Leorio remarked.

“It's not, once you have figured out which craft works best for you. That's why it's so important for alchemists to have a strong community,” Kurapika said. “To share resources and knowledge. The more unusual one's crafts, the harder it can be to find information on the most basic applications. Just imagine you're a potter; it would be smart to seek advice from someone with relations to Chinese alchemists because they were rather notorious for their pottery spells. If you're more interested in finding out about the magical properties of different types of clay, you might ask a Jewish alchemist. Unless you're trying to make a golem, don't waste your time asking Jewish families about that, it's considered rude and by the end of the day you have a swarm of locusts in your house.”

“And then your wife gets mad at you for serving her fried locusts for dinner even though it was her fault they were there in the first place,” Captain Nana added, grumbling.

“You have a _wife_?” Leorio said the second that it occurred to him. “When did that happen?”

“No need to sound so shocked about it, detective.”

“No, I mean, Sir, I thought– you never mentioned her before.”

“I prefer to keep my private life _private_.”

“Which is perfectly understandable,” Leorio muttered, giving his boss a thumbs up. “So congratulations. On being married.”

“Thank you,” Captain Nana replied politely. “And congratulations to you for passing the magic sensitivity test. I heard your scores were higher even than Kurapika's.”

“I was twelve when I took it,” Kurapika said defensively. “And besides, he can't even use the potential that he has, so there's no use drawing comparisons.”

“You just don't like the idea that someone else might be better than y– what the hell are you doing?”

Kurapika had closed his eyes and his fists, exhaling deeply. Tension wound up his arms and back and although Leorio could not spot any clear difference, something about him had changed. This was still Kurapika, except he was _more_ than usual. Sharper, more solid, more intense. More appealing – Leorio could feel the old yearning rise in his chest. His mouth went dry. He wanted to hold Kurapika or freeze him in time, preserve this moment as it was or make it his own.

“I'm charging,” Kurapika said and his voice went right through Leorio's core, making him shiver.

He needed to touch.

This was less a desire than a compulsion, an unyielding imperative. Leorio took a step forward–

Kurapika opened his eyes, irises aglow. Static bristled through his golden hair as purple-red lightning traveled over his skin like live scars. Buzzing, forking, shaping a potentially deadly cage of electricity around Kurapika. “Don't move,” he said with thunder rumbling from his tongue. “Not yet.” He had transformed into nothing short of a human Tesla coil and all of Leorio's senses screamed danger. He froze on the spot. But he could not stop _needing_ , he summoned every bit of willpower he had to stem himself against the force that was pulling him towards this magic like an iron pin caught in a magnetic field.

Kurapika held out his hand, palm facing Leorio's chest, fingers fanning out. Arches of light climbed up between them as if they were jacob's ladders. He leaned in closer, and closer, until there was only an inch between his trembling fingertips and the fabric of Leorio's suit.

Leorio remembered too vividly how it felt to be hit by a car at 30 miles per hour, what it had been like when his body rolled off the hood; the shock of hitting the asphalt and the terrifying seconds after when everything went numb and his lungs refused to unfold. He thought he'd never take a breath again.

He fell back into that moment, his chest seizing up, unable to gasp or even moan to alert someone of his distress. Some strange pressure worked on him, familiar yet different. He hurt. He hurt like he was going to explode and that was when he realized where he recognized this sensation from. He was still aching for _touch_. He needed a release, not quite of the orgasmic kind, but if he could not give in to Kurapika's gravity he would collapse.

He could not wait.

Leorio caught Kurapika's hand with his.

All hell broke loose.

The lightning spread to all corners of the room, cracking and popping when it hit the metal of the shelves. But for Leorio, relief was instantaneous. He drew in a panicked gasp and nearly fell to his knees as the tension and pressure subsided.

With relief came conscious thought. And with consciousness came regret. He had done it, after all. The one thing he had promised himself not to do. He had compromised Kurapika and there was no excuse.

Leorio tried to withdraw, but Kurapika's free hand clamped down on his wrist. The warbled sounds coming from his mouth were not screams, for some reason. It took Leorio a moment to process that those were words.

“Don't let go,” Kurapika said. Calmly. Seemingly unperturbed by the fact that he had turned from a controlled electric field into a force of nature. “Just let it burn out, it's alright. It's just St. Elmo's fire, perfectly safe. You did nothing wrong. Leorio?” He could say nothing in reply. “Leorio, are you listening to me, _you did nothing wrong_. I had speculated this would happen.”

There was only one question on his mind.

“How?”

How had he not hurt Kurapika? How could such a thing ever be predicted when there was no rhyme or reason to the ways in which he let magic go awry?

“Mizai, you saw this, right? It didn't catch at all. There was no surface potential. Still isn't.”

The Captain stepped up closer, right through the forks of lightning without even flinching. “Perhaps you should stop this experiment before you wear yourself down,” he offered softly, as if talking to a spooked animal. Leorio very much felt like one. But Kurapika's fingers were pressing down on his pulse, his thumb rubbing gently and already the static hum got a little less loud, a little less terrifying. Kurapika seemed so sure when he shook his head and said, “I'm barely putting anything into it, this is all Leorio's energy. It must be coming right from the core. And look, it's already balancing itself out.”

The radius of the St. Elmo's fire shrank. It drew in on Kurapika and Leorio slowly until it shaped a dome just wide enough to surround the both of them.

“Tell me when you start feeling a pull or a draw,” Kurapika requested.

Leorio promised he would, even if his reply was a bit wobbly. Because he had no idea what that was supposed to mean. A pull where?

“What do you mean, _when_ ,” Mizaistom interrupted. “Are you telling me all this,” he made a circling motion with his index finger, “is excess?”

“That would only make sense, wouldn't it? If he can't evaporate it through his pores like the rest of us, it will all build up and release at the next occasion. But it requires him to touch a magic user, so his surplus can flow into their orbital, unbeknownst to the person he touches.”

“What the hell is an orbi- ooooh. Oh, this is weird.” Leorio's hand started to prickle like a thousand sharp, fine cactus hairs went under his skin. “I think it's starting.”

Kurapika extinguished the St. Elmo's fire, which stopped the prickling immediately. He weaseled his hands out of Leorio's grip.

“You should be fine now, for a while. I would like to repeat this test a couple of times in the next few days to get an impression of how quickly your potential builds up again. And then we can think of the most convenient way for you to _use_ it, even if you may only be able to support other magic users. Until then, I'm afraid you will have to keep holding my hand at every occasion.”

Leorio clenched and unclenched his fists. “I will survive. But... does that mean I'm good now? I'm not dangerous anymore?”

“For now, yes, you're free to touch whoever you want without having to think twice about it.”

He had to let that sink in. That he was going to be _free_. That he wouldn't have to worry about bumping into strangers on the street anymore. No more flinching away, no more compulsory guilt, no more keeping distances he didn't want to keep. So immersed in this carousel of possibilities was he that he missed the look Kurapika was giving him. Waiting. Longing. Unsure if a word of encouragement or comfort was needed and knowing that he was bad at either.

“Oh my god,” Leorio mumbled. “This is... this is...” He wanted to say 'absolutely fantastic', but instead a raw and joyous scream crawled out of his throat as he leapt forward. He threw his arms around Kurapika, picking up the smaller man in a crushing hug.

“Leorio, what the heck?” Kurapika yelped. He struggled for balance and held onto Leorio's shoulders. This was too close too fast. And _high_. Curse Leorio for being such a tower and curse him twice for rubbing his cheeks against Kurapika's chest like a cat marking its owner. Kurapika could feel something in him mellow and he wanted to hide his face. He tried to yell but his voice jumped with laughter when he demanded to be put down.

Leorio complied and swayed awkwardly back on his heels, then swayed forward again to grab Kurapika's face and place a big kiss right on the top of his crown. “Bless you and your brilliant head, holy shit, I've never been so glad that you're a magical smartass.”

Said magical smartass shuddered and gaped. Bristled up. And hid his face in his hands.

“Are you blushing?” Leorio asked. Needless to say, he was delighted about this turn of events.

“Shut up.”

“You _are_.”

He was and he could not stop smiling despite himself. “And you're an absolute oaf.”

“I am!” Leorio shouted cheerfully.

Meanwhile, Mizaistom Nana wondered if he should remind the pair of his presence or if he should leave discreetly. They all had work to do, but Kurapika was smiling so brightly, so honestly, like he had not in... Now that he thought of it, he had never seen Kurapika so happy. Which was no surprise – they met for the first time when Kurapika was a newly orphaned schoolboy who clung to his younger cousin and lashed out at everyone who dared to go near them.

So Mizaistom was going to be lenient with him and with Detective Paladiknight too, for proving to be much better for Kurapika's health, especially his heart, than initially anticipated.

He decided to leave them undisturbed.

 

**9**

 

Leorio spent the next days learning more about magic than he had the past 25 years and although his head quickly began to buzz with all the new terms and concepts (just like Kurapika's body buzzed with static when he burned off magic potential just for the sake of wasting it) he had absolutely no reason to complain.

The first thing he learned was that an alchemist (usually) possessed two different magical potentials to draw from the body. The one that was tapped depended on the magic that the person was working: there was the core potential and the surface potential. There was also the so-called pore buffer which was only included as a mathematical factor; the sum of these three parts defined a person's full magical potential.

An alchemist's body was like a terracotta pot: when filled, the water would spread through the small channels and pores of it until it was covered in a fine film of moisture from the outside. In terms of magic, this film was more of a cloud, and known as the most reactive type of potential. This surface potential cloud, also known as orbital as a nod towards quantum chemistry, was where spells were powered. In other words, no matter how high one's total magic potential was, the aptitude of spell work only depended on the dimension of one's orbital, how quickly the magic from the core went through the pore buffer to sustain the orbital and how well the alchemist was able to translate the potential energy into a spell. Any potential energy that could not be transformed into spell energy was released as heat.

It wasn't unheard of that an alchemist overheated his work before he even finished the spell because his crafting ability was not up to par. Or that someone with a vast supply of magical energy was nearly unsuited for spell work because most of their potential rested in the core. Kurapika's father had been such a case: a remarkable clairvoyant who, for all that was dear to him, had not been able to work anything stronger than a household spell. In fact, that he had been able to perform any spells at all had only been due to the fact that he translated what little orbital he had with a bare minimum of energy loss thanks to his nimble hands. In the end, it was all about how one dealt with the limitations that were given.

Leorio was a bit of an unfortunate case, of course.

It should be noted that the equilibrium of an alchemist's power was by no means a closed system. They sweat out their magic into the orbital where, if it remained unused, it would evaporate too. In little amounts. The core always regenerated new magic and if it wasn't for the energy that just drifted off, the surface potential would rise and rise and no one could predict the strength of a spell anymore.

Which, Kurapika theorized, was why Leorio was so dangerous. As he seemed to lack the pores that would allow a healthy orbital on his own, his magic could not regulate. So a surplus accumulated in his core, that would be released without delay into the orbital of the next person he touched, increasing their surface potential without their knowledge.

Unfortunately, it was Leorio's desperate attempts to avoid touching other magic users that had yielded such devastating effects. Had he bothered to touch every single person he met... well, he would have made a lot of people uncomfortable, but he could have spread his surplus in small, harmless doses.

But this was where Kurapika factored into the equation.

Kurapika was not a saturated system. His magic was always in the state of regeneration, because dreamseeing burned so much of it right from the core that his surface potential slowly collapsed and diffused back into the core. The _draw_ he felt when he spent too much time separated from his body was nothing else than a warning that his orbital was completely drained and that he was going to burn up his energy from his _cells_ if he didn't return. (No bad habit could age you as nicely as putting off your return after the _draw_ set in.)

Kurapika was always starving to be filled up.

So he had nothing to fear from Leorio; any surplus that he would be given would replenish his orbital for a while until it seeped back in to make up for the deficiency in his core.

 

In the end, all the complicated magico-thermodynamic equations boiled down to two things: Leorio had magic that he could only get rid of by giving it to someone else. Kurapika was in a constant need of magic.

Therefore, the simplest solution to both of their dilemmas lay in holding hands.

 

**10**

 

Kurapika was terrifying.

Considering everything that had happened to Leorio, it was a miracle that he had not come to this conclusion sooner. In the end, it had not been the astral voyeurism or the lightning that scared him, or the fact that he was essentially being used as a magic battery.

It was Kurapika's habit of getting completely immersed into a job, closing himself in a prison of dust, ink, and dead paper and casting every necessity aside. He would barely sleep at night, he would drink sugar water like a hummingbird, skipping any proper meal unless he was invited to eat in company. He would not even grant himself the required 48-hour period of rest in between sessions, arguing that its sole purpose was to recollect strength and claiming that he had no need for that, if he refilled most of his strength simply by tapping into Leorio.

“Don't worry,” Kurapika would say when Leorio asked carefully if he wasn't pushing himself too hard, “I'm not doing proper dreamseeing right now. I'm doing triangulation, which is far less draining.”

Triangulation, for a clairvoyant, meant to launch one's mind at a certain place, send out a single impulse once they got there, and note the direction from which an echo would come. That way, it was possible to find the location of a certain person without establishing a direct link. The finicky thing with people was that they moved when they were awake; so what Kurapika did was to swallow a strange sleeping pill that made him sluggish and slow and helped the transition of his mind leaving and entering his body, allowing him a quick series of sessions during the course of a few hours.

Triangulation required medical supervision, so Dr. Yorkshire was by his side every time, which should have put Leorio at ease, but...

But every day when the timer of his watch went off to alert him that it was time for the scheduled handholding, Kurapika showed up looking kind of ashen and worn down. Leorio would have poured all of his magic sap into Kurapika, down to the last drop if it meant fixing his puffy eyelids and the tired lines on his face. He was supposed to help, was he not?

Then why did he feel so useless?

 

The first time they joined hands was during lunch break.

When his watch went off, Leorio was so quick to reach over the table that he knocked over the salt _and_ the sugar. Kurapika flinched, then raised an eyebrow at him.

“You are aware that the world won't end if you react just a little too late, aren't you? I know I told you to set an alarm, but really, just as a reminder. It's not that time sensitive.”

“I know, I know,” Leorio assured, scooping the spilled salt and sugar into a pile with his free hand. He took a pinch of the mixture and threw it over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“It's bad luck to spill salt unless you throw it over your shoulder right afterwards.”

Kurapika puffed up his cheeks and exhaled through his nose, noisily. “Don't tell me you believe in this nonsense.”

“Of course I don't believe in it. I'm just being safe.”

“Leorio!”

Leorio shrugged dismissively. “What? Is that really such a surprise? I've had bad luck ever since I can remember. And you never called me out for not walking through underneath a ladder.”

“Yes, because that is just common sense. And you're too tall to fit underneath a ladder anyway,” Kurapika argued.

That, he could not deny. Leorio grumbled and squeezed Kurapika's hand a bit too tight. He stared at the menu of the diner, craving for something savory, preferably as salty as he felt right now. They had eggs with bacon, but it didn't come with the side of fries he wanted.

Leorio then learned that five minutes could stretch endless when you had nothing to do or nothing to say to one another. They could stretch even more when your not-quite-date called up a waiter to discuss that the menu was lacking the required list of additives and allergenic agents and did not respond kindly to the news that they had neither almond milk nor lactose free creamer.

The waiter looked at Leorio for help, who realized he would have to find a new favorite lunch spot.

“I can never take you anywhere,” he hissed as soon as the waiter had been released from Kurapika's merciless clutches.

“Having food intolerance isn't fun especially nowadays when it's impossible to keep track of what goes into food anymore.”

“I know, just.. you could've been nicer to that guy. I don't think he gets paid enough to deal with your attitude.”

This had been a mistake. Kurapika's eyes narrowed dangerously. “What attitude exactly are you speaking of?” he asked, pronouncing every syllable sharply.

Leorio was not too fazed by his tone. Kurapika was far less intimidating once you knew that he was not a fan of blowing things out of proportion. There was also the fact that he was kind of persnickety about the way he wanted to be perceived by others. He had his pride and his spite, but he was willing to swallow both if given a strong enough reason.

“You kind of talk down to people a lot. I mean, I'm sure that you're sometimes not even aware of doing it, but even the way you say 'obviously,' as if you expect everyone to know just exactly what you do, to make the same conclusions you do... it makes people feel inferior. So, if you could try to sound less like you're lecturing everyone, people might stop thinking you're a stuck up little brat.”

Kurapika was preparing to answer when Leorio was saved by the second alarm of his watch and the arrival of their drinks.

 

Leorio was smarter on the second day; they had Chinese takeout at his desk, or rather it was just Leorio who sat at his desk while Kurapika had spread several maps at Leorio's feet, claiming the floor of the office as his work space, much to Zepile's chagrin.

So when Leorio's watch went off, he just let his left hand slip off the armrest while Kurapika reached up to take it. It was more like a handshake without the shaking and they did not quite fit – the tip of Kurapika's index and middle finger rested right on Leorio's pulse for some reason – but they were both too full and stubborn to correct this, so they held awkwardly on.

On the third day, Leorio nearly forgot about the time.

He had sneaked out for a smoke by the back entrance of the department when Kurapika pounced into his peripheral vision, quick and pretty as a cat. Leorio, in the middle of inhaling, nearly choked. He coughed, and blew out the smoke discreetly through the corner of his mouth, away from Kurapika. “Uh, hi. Um. You caught me.”

“I don't care about your smoking relapse,” Kurapika spat out, fuming. (Not exactly what Leorio would consider 'not caring.') “But next time, tell someone where you're disappearing to. I've been looking for you for the past ten minutes.”

“It's not time yet, is it?” Leorio rolled his eyes.

The alarm beeped, mocking him.

With a resigned sigh, he pinched off the glowing tip and put the rest of the cigarette in his suit pocket, for later. Kurapika found his place next to Leorio, close enough that the backs of their hands would touch. Not satisfied with that, Kurapika sneaked his fingers around and fit them playfully against the hollow of Leorio's palm, prompting him to fan out his own.

They fit against one another smoothly this time, callous against callous, fingers intertwined.

Neither of them spoke as they stared off ahead, watching the cars that drove by. The late October air was wet and heavy with the promise of the first winter snow.

“We're friends, right?” Kurapika asked suddenly.

“Well, yeah, of course we are,” Leorio said hesitantly, wondering if he had done anything that would cause Kurapika to doubt this. He hadn't. “Why are you asking?”

“It's just... Have you ever noticed that we never do the things that friends usually do? We never, say, sit down with wine and junk food and watch a terrible movie. Or hang out in bars together. We only ever talk.”

“And that's a bad thing?”

Kurapika looked up to the bright skies, as if to consult them. But if they had an answer for him, he kept it to himself.

After a little pause, Kurapika said, “Not necessarily. But I keep noticing that we don't have a lot in common. We don't have the same interests, we don't move in the same circles. It made me wonder if–”

“I want you around,” Leorio interrupted before Kurapika could say something stupid. “And I care about you. And as far as I can see the feeling's mutual, so that's all it takes, in my opinion at least. Of course, if you're interested in hanging out, we can totally make plans for that. I mean, watching DVDs is off the table right now, because Zepile has no TV and watching on the laptop screen is kinda awkward. But we could go to the movies some time.”

Kurapika's expression turned bitter. As he fixed his gaze to Leorio, he asked, “Are you sleeping with him?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you having a physical relationship with Zepile?” he rephrased. But Leorio had understood the meaning of his inquiry the first time, and it had sounded every bit as absurd then.

“No? Why would I– where the hell is that coming from in the first place?”

“Well, he certainly seemed interested, considering how he talked about your... _assets,_ ” Kurapika spat. He actually phrased it like that. Leorio didn't know if he should be amused or feel sorry and thinking of it, he had never heard Kurapika say 'dick,' nor could he imagine him doing so. Was he like a sphinx when it came to sex, elegantly poised but only able to talk of it in riddles?

“And people who have an intimate relationship often pick up habits or speech patterns from one another. So I thought that may have been why you started smoking again,” Kurapika continued.

“Yeah, no. I don't need Zepile to pick up bad habits. 'sides, he's my partner; I have to see him every day. I can't start fucking with him, that would be super weird, wouldn't it?”

“I suppose so,” Kurapika admitted quietly.

“Besides, if I am going to have a relationship, I don't want it to be just physical. I'm sure this whole friends with benefits thing works out for some people, but not me. And Zepile... I'm pretty sure he doesn't get romance. And even if he did, I wouldn't choose him of all people. I would–” Leorio looked at Kurapika, _really_ looked at him. If the last few weeks had proven anything, then it was how little Leorio really had known about Kurapika. It hadn't changed much how he viewed him, though. So, Kurapika was much more ruthless and flawed than Leorio had ever imagined. But by the end of the day, Leorio would _still_ choose him, and he was tired of pretending not to.

He swallowed. “Actually, you know what, why would I need a relationship when I have you and your magic stuff? That's about as much work as having two boyfriends with only half the pleasure, if that's not a sweet deal, I don't know what is.”

“Are you calling me high maintenance?”

“Well, I'm not wrong, am I?” Leorio waggled his eyebrows at Kurapika, who remained unimpressed.

“I think, someone who still struggles to do his own laundry should maybe be careful calling others a piece of work.”

“Can you stop holding that against me? You know I can't deal with the symbols on the tags, it's like trying to read hieroglyphs. And you helping me out every time does nothing to change that, so it's basically your fault.”

“You're such an idiot,” Kurapika said, rolling his eyes.

“But you're smiling,” Leorio said, when he found the corners of Kurapika's mouth twitching from amusement.

“I am _not_ ,” Kurapika insisted, but his facade cracked more and more.

“Yes you aaaaare.”

Kurapika bumped his shoulder against Leorio's arm. “Shut up.”

 

On the eighth day, Leorio tiptoed into Dr. Yorkshire's office.

She looked up from her work, raising an eyebrow.

He froze. Pointed at the sleeping form on her couch, then tapped against his watch. Then clutched his hands together, mirroring a handshake.

She huffed quietly and whispered, “I know why you're here, I've been supervising Mr. Kurta's sessions all week. There's absolutely no need for this charade, Detective.”

“Oh,” he whispered in return.

Dr. Yorkshire stood up from her desk and smoothed her skirts. “You and Mister Kurta require some privacy, I suppose?”

“I'd hate to kick you out, doc, but yeah, it would be a bit weird with you around.”

“I guess it was time for a break anyway,” she announced quietly. “I'll give you fifteen minutes.”

Leorio waited until the door had closed behind her, before he sat down on the edge of her chaise longue.

He could not say why he had expected Kurapika to sleep in a curled up position, like a kitten. Perhaps he had hoped that his friend would at least loosen up in his sleep, but no, Kurapika lay there stretched out neatly, hands tucked under his cheek like a pillow.

Leorio gently grazed his knuckle over the apple of Kurapika's cheek.

The sleeper stirred; his brow furrowed, his nose wrinkled. Kurapika's eyes flew open and he made a small, confused noise before he recognized Leorio.

“Good morning,” Leorio said fondly.

“Can't be morning if it's time already,” Kurapika mumbled, rubbing his eye. “How did you know I was here?”

“You sent me a text around four, that you were too tired to go home and that I should search for you here if you hadn't come for me when the alarm goes off.”

“I did?”

“You don't remember?”

“Obviously I don't, why else would I ask,” he carped.

“Okay, okay. I get it. Come on, let's get this over with and then I'll get us some coffee before you murder someone.”

“Sounds good.” Kurapika rolled onto his back and stretched, and his white buttoned shirt hiked up his hips. The curve of his neck was so invitingly exposed by his ruffled open collar. Leorio's mouth went dry as he pictured himself caressing every inch of vulnerable skin, Kurapika arching up to meet his hands.

“I think it's my turn to pay for the coffee,” Kurapika said, voice thick and coarse with sleep.

Leorio needed a moment to calm down and just as he was about to agree with the statement, he heard something _fwump_ against the office window. It was that kind of sound that a ball of feathers and sinew and hollow bones made when it crashed against glass, the one that always meant a broken neck and a tiny body to mourn.

“Oh shit,” he cursed.

Kurapika sat up, but Leorio was on his feet quicker; crossing the distance to the window in two large steps. The limp little bird on the window sill was not a common sparrow, not even a robin or another unfortunate wild animal – it was a parakeet, blue as the sky. Someone would miss this poor little fellow dearly.

Leorio opened the window.

“Maybe you should get some gloves first,” Kurapika offered.

“I know. This isn't my first dead body.”

“Oh, you investigate bird murders a lot? And I thought Mizaistom only let you work on robbery cases.”

“Robberies, art theft, forged items... Somebody robbed a taxidermist once. I just want to check if it's really dead.” He pulled out a pen from his suit pocket and slipped it under a spread wing. The bird jumped to life. It flew past Leorio, fluttering loudly as it went in circles around Kurapika and came to sit on his foot, where it let out a loud, shrieking chirp. Then, to Leorio's shock and amazement, the bird proceeded to talk in the voice of a seventy year old lady who gargled whiskey for breakfast and smoked too many cigars.

“To whom it may concern,” it began, “the little canary you seek for has been safely put into a cuckoo's nest. She is a free bird; you have no claim on her, or her songs. If it's answers you want, stop sending questions. Provide a token, invite us in and we will send someone into your dreams, to answer you.”

The bird chirped again. It took up in the air in wide circles.

“Close the window, quick.”

Leorio didn't need to be told twice.

“What _was_ that?”

“The _Kommt ein Vogel geflogen_ spell. I sent a bird last week, to contact the girl that disappeared from the Butler orphanage years ago. Canary. Guess the people who are now looking after her weren't too happy about that.”

Leorio scratched his chin. “If this is really the Cuckoo's Nest, I'm not surprised. They are vicious. I mean, they're decent people, but they will fuck you up.”

“I've never heard of them before this case, to be honest.”

“Well, you wouldn't have. They're an organization who runs several communes for battered women all over the states. They're... not too friendly with men, although I can't blame them. I'm surprised they give you a chance.”

Kurapika hugged himself, as if he was cold. “Did you listen at all? I'd have to let them into my dreams before they answer any of my questions.”

“Doesn't that put you in control?” He was not familiar with how dreamseeing worked in detail, but Leorio knew that it could be dangerous. Aside from the strain that came with splitting your mind and your body, one could get trapped or attacked, depending on what the sleeper came up with or how he reacted to having his mind intruded.

“Are you in control of every detail of your dreams? Letting someone else in is like allowing someone in a room that is composed of diary pages. Even if you can control the pages they see, they still pick up private information. Well. We'll see. There is no need to go that far if she really is safe with them, right? I will have to consult with Mizaistom what steps he wants me to take.”

The parakeet sat down on Dr. Yorkshire's desk and knocked over a picture.

“Perhaps we should get a cage first,” Leorio suggested.

“I still have one in my office.”

Leorio made a face. Calling it an office was quite a stretch. The small room in the basement that Kurapika had been given was a supply closet at best, since he had to share the already small place with a printer that was only functional on occasion, and a shelf full of broken or outdated technical devices. It was a gloomy place without windows or a decent light fixture and the air inside it grew stale and stuffy quick – even quicker when Leorio decided to try his luck with the printer there, while he met up with Kurapika. He remembered the birdcage; Kurapika had mainly used it to store away all his magic supplies after its original resident had disappeared.

“If you stay and watch the bird, I'll get it.”

“But...what about holding hands?”

“Leorio, it's not that scary of a task, I think you'll manage without my support,” Kurapika remarked dryly.

“Funny. Ridiculous. Yeah, just leave me with the damn bird while I build up more and more magic potential which will eventually cause havoc and destruction but no big deal, right?”

“Well, if you put it that way I suppose I have no other choice but to stay here and watch _you_. Closely.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat, because that is the opposite of a threat,” Leorio sneered.

“If you say so,” Kurapika teased in his tenderest of tones while he approached and took Leorio's hands as if he was going to dance the Ring Around the Rosie with him. But Kurapika was content with looking, no, staring up, raising an eyebrow cockily. Leorio understood this as a challenge. He held the gaze, trying not to be distracted by the shimmer of Kurapika's lashes or the little dimples in the corners of his mouth when he smirked. He tried not to squirm at being scrutinized so, either; Kurapika's dark eyes would wander slightly, taking in Leorio's features with a mischievous spark, beckoning, reminding Leorio of all the things he could do to him.

Leorio had never felt so naked. And he was sure that any innuendo that he read in between the lines of Kurapika's face were product of his imagination alone. Still, a nervous giggle tickled his throat, wanting to jump out. Heat crept up his face.

He hoped Kurapika wouldn't notice, but of course, he did.

“You're so bad at this, how are you a cop?”

“Hey, in my defense, I've met felons that were less intimidating than you.”

“I'm intimidating to you? Since when?”

Leorio fumbled desperately. “Since always? I mean, have you looked at yourself, you're so goddamn handsome and shiny, I mean, even now with these huge bags under your eyes and your hair all mussed up from sleeping, you kinda look like you just stepped off a runway. And you have that air around you, like someone who knows at least five ways to kill a man and hide the body. And please don't tell me if you actually do, I really don't want to know.”

Kurapika clucked his tongue and asked dryly, “Are you telling me you're afraid of me? Is that why you didn't want to kiss me?”

“I'm not– wait.”

He was joking, Leorio realized, and he should have let the matter rest. Because it was a good sign that Kurapika felt comfortable enough making little quips of the thing that led to their biggest fallout, wasn't it? But the way he said it rubbed Leorio all wrong.

“Whoever said anything about not wanting to? I told you – I made myself clear didn't I? I thought I was _cursed_.”

Kurapika hesitated, taken aback at the rather serious turn this conversation took. He spoke carefully. “That doesn't automatically mean that this was the reason you turned me down. You might just as well not have been interested.”

“But I was! I said so right to your face. I can't believe we have to go through this again.”

“No, you didn't,” Kurapika insisted, more frustrated than angry, “you said 'I would if I could' which is what you always say when you turn someone down because you think then people will be less disappointed. I figured you were trying not to hurt my feelings. Look, can we let this rest? I know you couldn't have been completely disinterested, but you apparently weren't interested enough to explain the situation to me and... it's fine, really. _I'm_ fine.”

Despite his insistence, Kurapika looked at his feet and tried to withdraw his hands. Leorio grabbed him by the wrist.

“Nononono, it's not fine, you're getting it all wrong. Look, I had the worst crush on you? But I didn't think anything would ever happen and then the kiss almost did happen and then I went to the hospital and then you started seeing this scruffy dude...”

“Don't remind me of that mistake,” Kurapika muttered, all but rushing through the words.

“What I'm saying is, there was never a moment where it seemed right to just sit you down and tell you that I really hoped we could have been something? And–”

“Leorio,” Kurapika interrupted. “What exactly do you expect me to do with that information?”

Leorio felt his stomach sink. “I–” he sputtered. He had hoped that he would not be too late, that Kurapika would at least be open-minded about trying again. It had only be three months, goddammit, that was not an awful lot of time. How could he already have moved on so quick. “Listen, I know I messed up the first time, and I'm sorry, but–”

“You didn't mess anything up. You made a choice then, whatever your motivations, and it took me a while to digest it. If you're just bringing this back up to apologize, don't. I don't want to talk about it. And don't start waxing about missed opportunities either, because it's unfair. You can either stay content being friends or ask me out, but don't come to me asking for absolution.”

Leorio let go of Kurapika's wrist. He wasn't done talking, far from it, but Kurapika apparently was – it was like they were having two different conversations. Leorio refused to just watch him go.

“I was _trying_ to ask you out just now,” he said defensively.

Kurapika froze. Then threw his hands up in frustration. “Why didn't you say so right away?”

“You kept interrupting me.”

“I did, didn't I?”

“So, do you want to–?”

“Yes,” Kurapika said hurriedly. “Definitely.”

“When are you free?” Leorio asked and called himself a fool as soon as the question had left his tongue. He knew when Kurapika worked, they saw each other every day, after all. “Do you have any plans for Sunday, yet?”

“Actually, yes. I'm going to the zoo with Mizai and his family. Come to think of it, perhaps we should wait until at least one of us has a proper place to stay.”

Leorio remembered that he had done nothing so far to get Kurapika's apartment back in shape, except spent the last Sunday with scrubbing soot off a few furniture pieces, all the while cursing Kurapika's taste for light colored wood. “Yeah, that seems... reasonable.”

“And we should probably keep a low profile at work. After all, we can't let that affect our jobs, so–”

“Of course,” Leorio agreed, nodding almost comically. “I mean, we're adults, right, we can do that, we can totally–” he forgot the rest of the sentence because Kurapika's brows furrowed in a very cute way and it was just beginning to sink in that they were _really going to do this_. “Do I need to wait for the first date before I am allowed to kiss you?”

Kurapika smirked and stood up on his tiptoes, placing a tiny peck on the corner of Leorio's mouth.

Leorio made the smallest noise of surprise. He had hoped for something more substantial, but of course, they were not love-drunk teenagers fooling around and this... was a promise at least. He could approach this at a careful and gentle pace. He _could_. He was a grown man ready to enter a meaningful relationship, without the fumbling and stumbling and the love bites left where everyone could see–

So, really, he had no idea when he had moved to comb through Kurapika's soft, smooth hair, or whose hip bumped into the other first, but suddenly, Kurapika's hands pulled hard on his collar and they collided, sigh to sigh and mouth to mouth.

They startled the bird, which chirped loudly and circled manically about the room. They paid it no mind. The only fluttering Leorio cared about right now was the flutter of Kurapika's lids when they pulled apart. Leorio kissed them, because they were just too pretty and so was Kurapika's little giggle and the way he shied away from the affection only to hide his face in the curve of Leorio's neck, sprinkling breathy laughter over his pulse.

 

Whatever their intentions, they did not keep a low profile at work.

Kurapika never strayed far from where Leorio's hands could find him. He left his 'office' more regularly and became a constant presence in Zepile's and Leorio's work space, whether he sat in the shadow of their desks, browsing for apartments while sipping his grape sugar drink through a straw, or followed their interrogations from the dark side of the two-way-mirror. He even bought a chocolate brown leather sofa and had it delivered to the police apartment so he could lounge around there with more style.

It pissed Zepile off to no end.

But any complaints that Detective Zeppeli made were just met with an evasive 'well, he's not interfering with our work' from his partner and a way to smug grin from the _consultant_. Sometimes, Zepile would find them both sitting on the couch, side by side, Kurapika fast asleep, his head resting on Leorio's shoulder while Leorio leafed through reports – and as much as Zepile loathed Kurapika's constant intrusion, he _was_ quiet. And for once, Leorio did his paperwork on time.

And when the time came around for them to hold hands, they would retreat.

Not that there was any need for the hand holding anymore.

They would exchange small touches whenever they thought they could get away with it – which was far more often than they _actually_ got away with it. Leorio would stop what he was doing to tuck a loose strand behind Kurapika's ear, even if it would just slip back in place right afterwards. Kurapika would reach for Leorio's hand under the desk (or his thigh, if he was feeling cheeky) and gave it an affirmative squeeze.

 

On the thirteenth day, Zepile lost his cool.

 

The crime scene was a sparkling mess. The robbers had not bothered with the door of the jewelry store; instead they had smashed the window, pushed everything on the window display aside to climb in and smash the showcases.

And while any sensible person focused on what had been stolen first, a certain alchemist was oddly fascinated about the things that had gone completely ignored. Kurapika stood by the window, looming slightly over the sill as he shone a flashlight over every corner. The crime scene unit watched him with unease; they had already cleared the area where he was standing, so there was no harm in him being there, but he wore white satin gloves like a cheap stage magician and he scanned everything so thoroughly as if he expected the CSU to do a poor job.

“And why again were you hanging out in the temple with him at 3 am?” Zepile whispered as the shop owner showed them the catalog of items to get a first impression of the scope of the crime.

“I wasn't hanging out with him; he was working and I was meeting someone,” Leorio cleared his throat and looked a few times meaningfully back and forth between Zepile and the shop owner. Which meant he either had qualms having a private conversation at work or he considered it disrespectful not to give all his attention to the crime victim. The latter was more likely, but the former bore the hope of hearing some spicy details, so Zepile kept nagging.

“Who the hell could _you_ be meeting in the temple if he's the only alchemist that you know in this city?”

Leorio's face slipped into a comfortable smile. “Gon.”

“Your cousin? The one you haven't seen in years?”

“He's visiting. Seems like Kurapika has contacted him. Or rather, he pestered Ging about it until he caved in.”

Zepile whistled appreciatively. It was remarkable which lengths the little blond devil would go to ensnare Leorio. A bouquet of flowers would have done the trick just nicely, Zepile reckoned, but family reunions were of a different sort entirely.

“These pieces all have gemstones in them,” Leorio suddenly said. “Even the rings. Sir, do you already know if they stole some plain jewelry as well?”

“Doesn't look like it, no.”

“That's weird.”

“Right?” Zepile agreed. “Who has the time to be picky when robbing a store. It's so much easier to sack everything and sort out later.”

“They must have taken some items from the window display too,” Kurapika called out. “I see a single amber earring lying here. But they didn't touch the zirconia necklaces. It doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe they had a shopping list,” Leorio offered with a shrug, only half convinced himself. “Not everyone knows where to turn to sell the stuff they stole.”

“Is it common that people get hired to steal jewelry?”

“Uh. No, not really.”

“No option is too uncommon to consider it,” Zepile interjected loudly, then dropped his volume as he noticed something in the catalog. He bumped his elbow in Leorio's side, to catch his attention. “Also, it looks like all of the stolen items had at least one colored stone worked into it. You know who loves to work with colored stones? The peacocks. Good thing _your_ peacock has an alibi.”

“No alchemist works with precious stones, Zepile, that's far too expensive,” Leorio grumbled, but despite that he kept on shooting nervous glances to Kurapika. Or maybe his behavior had nothing to do with Zepile's accusation and everything with Kurapika himself.

Kurapika had finished his inspection of the window sill and was now facing a glittering sea of shards that had to be crossed. He hadn't even attempted to stick out his leg yet, when Leorio rushed to his side and offered his hand as a support in the most unnecessary display of chivalry. And Kurapika had the nerve to took it with grace even if he did not need help to cross the critical area.

The scene unfolded like something out of a Jane Austen novel, where they intensely gazed into each other's eyes, oblivious to their surroundings...

“Thank you, Detective Paladiknight,” Kurapika said, batting his eyelashes. He was putting on a show, exaggerating his gestures just so much to add a hint of irony, but not so much that they appeared a mockery. “I highly appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” Leorio promised, smiling so bright that it had to hurt.

They were being absolutely ridiculous and what was worse, they were being absolutely ridiculous on a crime scene. It made Zepile furious.

He cleared his throat, loudly. “Why don't you two get a fucking room while you're at it, because some of us actually intend to work here.”

Leorio froze, mortified, and Zepile almost felt sorry for him. Not so much for the alchemist, who instantly slipped in killer mode. Kurapika was not really suited for an Austen novel after all; he may have the sass of Lizzie Bennet, but the ferocity of Jane Eyre prevailed.

“Well, maybe we will,” he challenged.

“What,” Leorio said. He still hadn't let go of Kurapika's hands and now, as the color drained from his face, he looked like he was the one in need of support.

“Fine, you know where the door is.”

“I do.”

“Kurapika, now wait a minute–” Leorio tried to talk some sense into his viper of a romantic interest, but Kurapika yanked his hand away.

“Well, I'm obviously not wanted here, am I?” He produced a printed sheet of paper from the depths of his cream white coat and pinned it against Leorio's chest before stomping off. Leorio held onto the paper so hard it crumpled at the edges; he watched Kurapika go, then looked back at his partner.

The CSU technicians focused extra hard on their work.

“Was that really necessary?”

“Well, maybe don't bring your boyfriend to work if he's only distracting you, then.”

“He's not my boyfriend and thanks to you, he'll probably never be.”

“He could turn me into a toad if I was that much of a nuisance, and if he takes the piss on you if he's got beef with me, then you should really, really, look for another fish in the sea. What did he even give you?”

Leorio grumbled as if he was going to say that this was really none of Zepile's business, but he checked the print anyway. And made a surprised noise. “It's an ad for an apartment. Not the kind that I could ever afford, though, so I'm really not sure what he wants me to do about that.”

“Well,” Zepile said, a little bored. “How many bedrooms are listed?”

The apartment had two bedrooms.

When they met later during the day at their scheduled time, Kurapika swallowed his anger just long enough to gruffly ask Leorio to move together.

As roommates, he added.

Completely unrelated to the current nature of their relationship, he added.

As expected, he already had a list of reasons ready why the both of them could only benefit from such an arrangement. They could postpone both their daily power exchange (may that involve lips touching or not) to the time off work and thus remain a more professional work climate. They would be able to afford a bigger living space if they split the rent evenly, they didn't have to worry about making time for dates to spent some quiet time together.

It appeared that he really assumed Leorio would leap at this possibility right away. But Leorio was a firm believer that there was a time and place for everything and an order to follow.

You didn't move together before you had your first date, that was just stupid. And no matter what Kurapika said, making this step would affect the thing they were trying to become. Even if each of them would have a room to retreat to should they need some privacy, should they get sick of seeing the other's face, there was still the question what to do if they didn't work out? Would they carefully avoid one another in their own apartment? Leave passive aggressive notes for each other on the fridge?

So, of course, instead of voicing his concerns like a mature person, (and risking to prompt a fight) Leorio asked for a little bit of time to consider everything and then dove himself headfirst into this new case of his. It wasn't the same thing as avoiding Kurapika actively, not at all.

After all, they still saw each other every day, and if there was not the right mood for their lips to meet while their hands intertwined because Leorio was always on the go, that was no one's fault.

 

Kurapika made an offhand remark about him having cold, clammy hands on the third day of the investigation.

Leorio did not reply.

In fact, they did not talk much at all. Which suited Leorio just well, that way he couldn’t give the wrong answer.

 

But he would think of that moment, hours later when the phone on his desk rang and he had Dr. Yorkshire on the line, asking him to come down to the archive because she needed assistance with something.

The clock showed a quarter to 10 pm.

 

When he found her in front of Kurapika's office, she was already buttoning up her coat, cheeks pink with haste and aggravation. “I need to go buy ginger before the shops close, it's really important,” she stressed, “but I can't leave him alone in his state.”

“Is he still up in the layer?” Leorio asked quietly, as if speaking too loudly could break a trance. He didn't know quite how to care for Kurapika when he woke up, Leorio only knew that the process had to be quite rough. He had yet to witness it; Kurapika was awfully particular who he wanted around during that phase.

But Dr. Yorkshire shook her head. “No, he's awake and alert. Sort of. Detective, do you have experience with dissociation?”

“Uh–”

“I'll take that as a no. Your friend isn't quite himself right now, he's... responsive, to a degree, but avoid moving too quick or you might startle him. Don't touch him unless he agrees to it. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Leorio still had so many questions to ask, but Dr. Yorkshire just nodded gravely and clicked the heels of her shoes together. She disappeared with a _pop_. Well. He guessed that confirmed some of the rumors about her.

The tiny office room smelled like smoke and old dust.

Kurapika sat in the center of two intertwined alchemical squares, staring at the open palms in his lap. His breath came in shaky leaps, as if he was close to sobbing, but there was no telltale shimmering tear-veil in his eyes. There was no light in his eyes at all, and no sign of recognition either when Leorio sat down in front of him, staining his suit pants with chalk.

“Hey,” he tried softly.

Kurapika pressed his eyes shut.

“The doc said you aren't feeling so well.”

He laughed, quiet and bitter until his frail shoulders shook. Kurapika looked at Leorio, looked right through him, dark and unfocused. “I'm not feeling anything right now, to be honest.”

“Is there something I can do to help you?”

Kurapika did not answer right away. He did not appear hesitant – in fact he appeared rather blank most of the time, emotions rippling over his face like little waves over the water's surface when a stone was dropped in. He had to let information sink in deeply, just as well. The more he spoke, the more it became obvious that his answers all came with a delay. He said, “If this was a dream, would you admit it?”

Leorio was at loss. Before he could think of an answer, Kurapika dropped his gaze to his arms again. “But I don't look like I'm dreaming.”

He slammed his hands on the floor so suddenly, Leorio nearly fell back. Kurapika drew in a sharp breath. “I want to go back.”

“Go back where?”

“The astral layer.”

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“At least things make sense there.”

“Well, what's not making sense here? Please tell me what's wrong, Kurapika.”

But Kurapika fell silent and tried to dig his nails into the floor.

“Can I hold your hand? Will that make it better?”

“There's hand lotion in my bag,” Kurapika said sluggishly. “Would you put some on me?”

“Of course.”

Kurapika had the most obnoxious hand lotion that a person could own. Leorio had barely squeezed a bit into his hand when the overly saturated fragrance of papaya and coconut spread in the entire room.

Kurapika sighed. “I can smell that.”

“I bet even the people in the morgue could smell that,” Leorio grumbled as he worked the fluid into Kurapika's skin in wide circles. His palms were flushed and a little hot to the touch from when he had slammed them onto the floor. He hummed agreeably and leaned forward, bumping his forehead against Leorio's.

 

Dr. Yorkshire returned about ten minutes later with a saucer full of thinly sliced ginger and a cup of coffee from the break room. She told Kurapika to put a slice on his tongue. He did, albeit shaking with disgust, then chewed slowly.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked.

“Barely,” Kurapika said glumly, even as he reached for another slice.

Dr. Yorkshire also prompted him to hold onto the cup with both hands, despite, or rather, _because_ of the fact that the ceramic was painfully hot to the touch. “I think it goes without saying that you're not allowed to go into trance for at least a week.”

“What's happening to him?” Leorio wanted to know.

“He overworked himself,” Dr. Yorkshire huffed. “And now his mind has trouble reconnecting with his body. Or his mind has trouble comprehending that it is already reconnected to its body. Whatever the cause, he is experiencing severe dissociation, like I warned him he would. There is a reason recommended resting periods in between sessions exist.”

Kurapika groaned unhappily and grabbed another slice. “There's always a risk of dissociation, after every session. And in between sessions,” he said, before putting the ginger on his tongue and wincing.

Dr. Yorkshire crossed her arms and leaned back against the probably dusty shelves. “A risk that could have been significantly decreased, if you just stuck to the guidelines. You might want to use the next week to reconsider if your reckless behavior was worth it.” She paused. “You seem to be feeling better, if you can argue with me like that.”

“I'm still incredibly dizzy. And if I have to eat any more ginger, I'm going to throw up.”

Leorio raised his hand like a schoolboy and blurted out the one question that was burning on his mind most urgently: “When you say it can happen in between sessions, you mean... anytime? Just like that? Like, he could just go about his day and – poof.”

“Dissociation doesn't go 'poof,' Leorio,” Kurapika said weakly.

“Until he has restored some of his balance, it's very likely that it will happen again.”

“I'll be fine,” Kurapika promised, anything but convincingly. “I have Chandni and Mizaistom looking after me.”

Leorio wondered then what Kurapika would do if there was no one around to keep an eye on him, how he could cope on his own. He used to do his clairvoyance work from home more than in the temple. Now that seemed to Leorio an awful risky thing to do.

“Perhaps you should cut down on the casework,” the doc suggested. “Take a nice bath. Sleep as long as possible and after 24 hours pick some light spellwork again. Or pick up a hobby that keeps you busy.”

“I am familiar with my self care options, thank you,” Kurapika said sharply. “And I'm sure I can find something to kill the time.”

“You could use the next week to meet up with some real estate agents,” Leorio offered quietly. “I mean, you wanted to have a proper look at this apartment you told me about. Now seems to be the perfect time.”

“I didn't get the impression that you cared about the apartment.”

“But I did. I _do_. Okay, maybe it took a bit to grow on me, but who cares? You want that apartment, I say go for it.” Leorio's fear of ruining their hard won and merely blossoming romantic relationship seemed insignificant compared to the more tangible threat of Kurapika having to cope with his health issues all alone. Health issues that Leorio hadn't even known to be aware of until minutes ago – what kind of a friend did that make him?

Of course, Kurapika would have to work harder on their relationship too. There were so many things he simply kept to himself; not only was this an unhealthy way to deal with anything, but Leorio felt like they were never on equal footing. Kurapika always had one secret more up his sleeve.

He had never expected things to be easy or to work out right away and he was willing to walk the extra mile for Kurapika, as long as _Kurapika_ was willing to open up and let Leorio into his life.

Leorio sighed and ran his hand over Kurapika's back affirmatively, but his attention was on Dr. Yorkshire. “Tell me, what I can do to help him if he dissociates again. And how I can tell.”

“Leorio, you don't have to concern yourself with that.”

“Of course I have to, you're my boyfriend, for Christ's sake.”

“Really? When did that happen?” Kurapika quipped.

Leorio had never been so glad to hear sarcasm out of that pretty mouth. Sarcasm he could deal with, sarcasm was familiar terrain.

“Well, I don't know, maybe when you decided to skip the dating part of the dating altogether.”

Kurapika sighed and leaned a little bit into Leorio. “Fair enough.”


	3. Citredo

_And in the spring I shed my skin_  
_And it blows away with the changing wind_  
_The waters turn from blue to red_  
_As towards the sky I offer it_

Florence & the Machine _, Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up)_

 

**1**

 

Leorio woke with a gasp.

He found himself lying on a hard, unfamiliar floor, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. The ground was cold, the air just warm enough not to wind up with prickly numb and stiff extremities. He could smell and hear a fire. The ceiling was mottled with dark patches, some of them moving with the flicker of the flames, some of them sitting plain on the plaster. Leorio recognized mold when he saw it, growing right on the spot over his head like an ill-omen.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

There was no way that this run-down, cold-ass place belonged to the temple complex, so he must have been moved while he was out. By whom? Why? The last thing he remembered was falling asleep to the sound of Melody's flute, Kurapika's hand warm in his own. They had tried a different sort of session; one where Kurapika tapped into his potential directly while ascending, allowing a smoother energy supply for himself and a more thorough draining of Leorio's unused potential. It had seemed then to Leorio like there was no harm in falling asleep inside the alchemical circle, because no one directly told him not to. But he too must have fallen into a deep trance state.

Leorio could tell without looking that he was hurt; pain twisted his pelvis like he had been stabbed, except that it sat deep under his skin and he could not tell where it had crept in. Maybe that had been why he was moved? But if he was injured, why would anyone bring him to the least sanitary place on earth that was not an actual toilet?

He pressed his eyes shut, thinking. Feigning sleep.

First things first. If he was hurting and there was no wound, he needed to figure out how bad it was. Was it just a bruise or was he bleeding internally? He could hear nothing but the fire. No voices bouncing off the walls, no footsteps, no noisy breathing. It was safe to assume he was not being watched.

Slowly, Leorio placed a hand on the patch of skin under his navel and applied pressure with his fingertips.

The pain did not increase and the flesh was squishy. Too squishy.

So he was neither bruised nor imminently dying, but what was sudden muscle loss a symptom of? Just how long had he been out of it? Fuck.

Someone had changed his clothes. He could feel long underwear cover his legs, except that underneath that he could feel the seams of another pair of underwear digging into his butt cheeks. It didn't feel like _his_ underwear and that was when he subtly started to freak out. He dipped his hand lower, to the waistband of the sweatpants he had been put in.

As he did so, the dip of his elbow brushed against a soft lump. It was just resting there, warm and not too heavy against his skin and he could feel the contact in the lump, as well as his arm.

Leorio dipped his palm into the delta between his legs, and pulled it back, as if he had been burned. The lump in his elbow flopped against his chest. In fact, the lump was _part of_ his chest.

“Fuck.”

The voice that rang in his ears and through his skulls was no more his own than the breasts he just cupped, or the vulva he touched for a second. This was not his body.

_Why was this not his body?_

The pain in his pelvic flared up and Leorio gasped. He held his breath and rolled to the side, curling up in the fetal position, praying it would pass.

It did not. Not completely, that was. After a second that stretched endlessly, the pain at least faded back to a bearable amount.

He needed to get out of this. And he needed some fucking painkillers before anything else.

Leorio opened his eyes and scanned the room as well as he could without moving too much. There was not much to see, just naked walls and uneven floorboards, swollen with humidity. Beer bottles. A bong. A stained mattress in one corner of the room where a giant of a man slept, curled up in a blanket. Leorio wanted a blanket, too.

He rolled onto his stomach and got on his fours. Now, getting on his feet was a bit of a wobbly business, he was so much more top-heavy now and his legs had no strength at all... As soon as he had somewhat straightened the body he was trapped in, the bladder gave in. Or maybe it wasn't the bladder because no matter how much he pressed his legs together and tried to hold it, it kept on coming. He just _leaked_.

He wanted to die.

Leorio shuddered, alienated. Again he shoved his hand between his legs, disgusted with himself for resorting to this, ashamed for wetting himself, even if, technically, he was not _himself_. He needed to stop thinking of this host body as his. Because that was what it was, wasn't it? He had been in the alchemical circle, he must have entered someone's body instead of their subconscious, their dreams. Kurapika would know. Kurapika would be able to fix this.

But right now, there was a swamp in Leorio's host's nether regions and he needed to find pain killers, shoes, and a way out. Also pads. All the pads. He could feel one chafing against the pubic hair, which explained why his underthings were dry still. But he had no idea how long they would stay that way. He cringed as he realized he might actually have to change pads as long as he was in this body and he cringed even more as the boobs continued to move with every step. It felt less fun than he ever imagined. After a moment of indecision, he grabbed his host's tits and held them up to keep them from flopping all over the place.

That felt much, much better. Perhaps he should add a bra to the list of things he needed to get before running away from here.

Once he was on his feet and a little less spooked about fluids seeping out of his borrowed vagina, Leorio turned on his heel to take the room in for a second time. There was an old barrel in the middle of the room where the fire flickered low and he could spot two more gross mattresses, one occupied by a motionless lump that could have been a wiry-limbed human or a Great Dane – Leorio was not going to approach it to find out which one or if it was even still alive. He checked the barred windows instead.

Panels of compressed wood were wedged into the frames. They did a fairly good job of keeping out the cold, but sometimes there was just a gap between two pieces where they did not fit exactly against one another. Leorio peeked through one of these gap; an icy wind whistled through and made his eyes water. He blinked, trying to adjust.

Daylight was still waning and painted everything in a bright orange coat, turning the plain, snowed-in landscape into a glittering desert. A few solitary trees stood out of the ground like black skeletons. Aside from that, there was nothing that caught his attention, no fence, no street.

Leorio came to the conclusion that he had to be at the countryside and unless more than 21 hours had passed since he fell asleep, this was the _west coast_ countryside. He prayed there was a street on the other side of the house, and some sort of vehicle, because he didn't want to _hike_ to the next bit of civilization.

His eyes started to hurt and he tore himself away from the window.

So much for that, now where to go?

The room had only two doors on the wall opposite to Leorio; one was broader than the other, so he aimed for this one first. Tits still secured in his hands, he tiptoed through the room looking every bit a drunk chicken. The floorboards creaked like groaning ghouls under his step; several times he looked back over his shoulder to check if any of the other inhabitants stirred.

He tried the door. It didn't give way.

He stemmed his leg against the wall to give his pulling a bit more leverage, in case the wood was stuck. More blood trickled warm out of his host's vagina due to the exertion, but no matter how much he bled and pulled, the door would not budge.

“The fuck do you think you're doing?” a male voice boomed.

Leorio froze. Somehow he didn't think that bellowing belonged to the scrawny lump. And even if it did – how was he supposed to put up a fight in the body he was stuck in? With these soft limbs and the hard knot of pain resting in his uterus?

“I gotta pee,” he said because it was the first thing that came into his mind. And because he actually needed to pee. Or maybe it was the cramps that felt like he needed to. Either way, his voice was a high pitched mess.

“You're rattling up the wrong fucking door,” Mr. Beefcake said and called Leorio a stupid hoe, just for good measure. A real charmer, that one.

Leorio opened the bathroom door and patted the walls looking for a light switch. The one he found felt disgusting; Leorio wiped his hand on his pants as a single naked lightbulb flickered alive – and his eyes fell on a huge translucent pair of lungs, growing on the wall like an anemone. He closed the door. Looked back at the... bedroom, for lack of a better word. Everything looked perfectly like piss and poverty, but real. He wasn't tripping balls.

He opened the door again. The lungs expanded and collapsed, unperturbed.

Leorio prayed the organs were friendly when he locked himself in the bathroom.

Obscure flora aside, the bathroom was a major improvement to the bedroom, considering it had actual furniture in it. Leorio browsed the cupboard under the sink for useful things. He almost grabbed into a bag of old syringes in the lowest drawer. There were also razor blades and cigarette papers, along with a small tin can that was used to grind weed to smaller pieces – all your fancy drug supplies neatly organized in one drawer. Which made it pretty obvious what these people considered their priorities.

(It was a miracle that his host's body had been sober when he woke up in it, but Leorio would not question his luck while he had it. There was no way he could escape this shithole while being high.)

Leorio considered taking a razor blade to defend himself with, but chances were he was only going to cut up his own fingers. The syringes posed a similar thread. For a second, Leorio considered that, since this was not his body, he would have to worry less about health consequences – and then he slapped his cheeks, to chase this nasty thought out of his head. A rented body would have to be treated with twice the care of his own one.

He filched a nail clipper from the second drawer, which appeared to be the closest thing to a safe weapon in the entire room. And when he found pads in the top drawer, he stuffed his pockets with them. The mirror cabinet had aspirin, so Leorio took that too although it seemed like the worst idea because a) it would make the bleeding worse and possibly burn a hole in his stomach and b) who knew what this girl still had running through her blood?

When he closed the door of the mirror cabinet, he took the time to take a good look at her face for the first time.

Her eyes were a dark color that could have been green or brown or both. The skin under her cheekbones had sunken in slightly, but the rest of her face was smooth from youth, albeit waxen and exhausted. Her small, heart-shaped mouth was pink and chapped like a crumpled up flower.

She looked so vulnerable wearing Leorio's fear.

She also looked oddly familiar.

When Leorio snarled, he could see the gap between her front teeth. And when he pulled back her greasy, purple hair – the roots were already growing out mousy brown – he noticed that her ears stuck out, just like his own. He had not just woken up in some random girl's body.

He had found Leroute Villeneuve.

Something perked up in the back of his consciousness, but when Leorio tried to get a hold of it, it slipped out of his grasp. He went over her name again... and he could feel a sense of urgency building up.

_'Fuck off.'_

It wasn't his thought. Leroute was still there, in her own body... which made sense, because where would she have gone? But the little push she had given him was not enough to reign back control.

Leorio tried to reach out for her, now that he knew where to find her. He wanted to apologize, but she shrugged him off. She made herself small.

Leroute seemed to care little about what Leorio had to say. When he explained her that there were people looking for her, people who might come for her to bring her home, her sardonic laughter echoed in the dome of their shared skull.

Leorio remembered Kurapika's map, tried to conjure it in his mind with as much detail as possible, to show her. But of course, what he remembered most clearly was Kurapika, bending over the paper and pushing a thumbtack over the spot where he had just projected his mind. There were lines connecting every tack, spiraling closer and closer together like the threads of a spider web being spun towards the center.

Leroute might have a better idea of how to get away from this place, how to reach the nearest street and gas station. How to find people.

_'There is no way out. The only one who can come and go as he pleases is Bendot.'_

She conjured up an image of him, looking up at his full height. Bendot appeared a lot like the unholy child of a white supremacist and Arnold Schwarzenegger. He had muscles like a bull and a neck that seemed as wide as his entire head; his bald scalp was crowned with dark scars. Not the kind of guy you wanted to argue with.

_'How 'bout we just run?'_ Leorio suggested.

Leroute was politely disinterested. _'Where? How? I haven't worn shoes in ages. Or coats.'_

_'How the fuck do you go outside then?'_

_'Barefoot in the summer. Or not at all.'_

_'Fuck.'_

_'It's not so bad. Johness here keeps me company.'_

Johness. She had given this awful, disgusting, flopping thing a name. Leorio couldn't begin to imagine what it was like to be so lonely, so miserable.

_'No one's asking you to stay, honey. You can just float right off.'_

_'You heard that?'_

_'You're in my head. Of course I heard you.'_

_'And you have seen that thing before? How long has it been there?'_

_'Johness' been around for longer than me. He's the closest thing to a pet we have, except I am the only one who can see him. And not to forget that he might be deadly. He got a real spurt after he sucked something out of Sedokan's chest. No idea what it was but Sedokan has become even more useless after that. So don't get too close.'_

Leorio assumed that Sedokan was the bony lump that lay on the other mattress. This situation was just getting better and better. Although he took it as a good sign that Leroute was getting more talkative. He might get her to help him, somehow. If only he could show her that it was possible to escape. And while he was focusing on escapes, the bathroom window looked quite attractive. Only the lower half was properly barred, which explained why it was so freezing cold in this tiny room. Leorio pried the pressed wood off; large shards of glass still stuck to the window frame, but he could easily get rid of those. In fact, it was so easy that he was sure that getting out of the building was not the trickiest part of escaping.

He curled up his, _their_ toes to keep them from getting stiff with cold.

Running barefoot in the snow was probably healthier than running with wet socks. However... next to the toilet was a small beige plastic trash can. He knew what _that_ was for. And that there was a bag in it... there had been more bags in the cupboard. He checked that again.

Leorio took the two sturdiest looking plastic bags and two hairpieces and sat down on the toilet. The pad squished against their naked skin as a result; he immediately regretted being alive and being stuck in this situation.

_'Hey, can you, uh... take back control and change the pad?'_

_'No. It's exhausting.'_

_'What is?'_

_'Trying to be in control.'_

Leorio wondered if maybe her disinterest had less to do with not caring. Perhaps it was a symptom of a different kind of problem.

_'Well I need you to try because it's gross and we need to pee and do you really want a stranger to wipe your private parts, I wouldn't. They're called private for a reason.'_

He felt a prickling at their neck, then a sense of vertigo, and then he felt nothing at all anymore. Well, perhaps not nothing. The sensory input was dull and muffled, like he had been wrapped in cotton, like... well, like he was on autopilot. The only thing he could do proper was to see.

Although, when Leroute pulled down her pants and sat down to pee, he really wished he could not.

Because when she checked on the pad, it was soaked with blood and worse things. Nightmarish things: black, wet lumps in which the light caught strangely that seemed to have the consistency of a smashed jellyfish. There was more of it tangled in her pubic hair... and blood-tinted mucus clung to the toilet paper when she wiped herself.

The scent of blood and decay was overwhelming.

Leorio would have gagged if he had been in control. So that was why Leroute saw no use in escaping – she was dying anyway.

_'Are you done whining now? I'm not dying and I don't plan to in the near future.'_

_'But this_ – _'_

_'It's lining. Did you really think menstruation is just bleeding out? Because it's not. It's more like skin shedding, except the skin in question is filled with blood. I know it's absolutely nasty, but it's a normal nasty, so calm down already.'_

_'How can I calm down if it looks like you failed to give birth to an alien jellyfish?'_ Leorio wanted to shout. Leorio _needed_ to shout, to get it out of his system. _'I can never unsee that.'_

He would have gladly left now, and never looked back, if only he knew how. Maybe Leroute sensed how skeeved he was about this, maybe it sparked the tiniest glimmer of empathy. Or she was just sick of listening to Leorio freak out; fact was, she told him to think of it as mashed blackberries and strawberry juice.

That helped a little.

Leroute cleaned up and changed the pad while Leorio aggressively tried to focus on berries.

_'What now?'_ she asked when she was pulling up her pants again.

_'Put your feet in the bags and fix them with the hairpieces. That won't help much against the cold, but it will keep the socks dry, which is most important.'_

_'And I'll slip and fall on my ass.'_

_'Shit, I didn't think of that. Uhhhh... we're wearing two pairs of socks, right? Then take them off, put on the thicker ones first, then the bags, then the thinner socks.'_

She fell silent. The moment stretched, so much that Leorio worried she had gone back into her private space at the back of her head. He reached out for her, carefully, calling her name.

_'My grandma always used to put plasters on the soles of my shoes if they were too slippery in the snow.'_

_'Okay? I think I saw plasters too_ –’

_'No, I'm just thinking. This. This might actually work. Bendot has a pickup truck in the woods. Not quite sure where, but it can't be too far and I know the general direction where to start-'_

Something materialized in the corner of their vision.

Leorio only had the time to make out a mass of shadows and eyes in a humanoid form when Leroute screamed and stumbled back. She fell, but even then she still fled, pushing Leorio back to the front of their conscious as if he could act as a shield between her and whatever this was.

Johness let out a groaning sound that nothing resembling a human organ should ever make. It caught the creature's eye – eyes, actually, too many of them and all viciously glowing scarlet – but the distraction did not last long, for it bent down and reached a single, ash-gray hand out for Leorio.

“Don't fucking touch me,” he whispered.

To his surprise, it obeyed. And then it called out his name.

Leorio flinched. He tried to make sense of this – tried to see something familiar in this shape, but for a second he was distracted by the fact that there was a wound like a mouth opening on the right forearm. Exactly like a mouth, with white sharp teeth that would have been pretty rad to look at, had it grown anywhere near the row of eyes that dotted the creature's collarbone like a necklace... which, one by one, were blinking shut and merged back into the dark chest.

It– _they_ had a shape, their appearance possessed definition. Aside from a few larger patches on both forearms and thighs that were overgrown by a blue luminescent moss, he could see their lean muscles working.

And, behind a curtain of shadows, Leorio finally recognized a familiar face.

“Pika?” he whispered, deliberately picking the shortest version of his name that he would still respond to. Because names had power and who told him that the familiar face actually belonged to a familiar beast? What if it was some sort of chimera trying to lull him into security? He'd rather not give them Kurapika's name too.

_'How is this look supposed to make anyone feel secure?'_ Leroute remarked. She seemed awfully far away, but she was right. And no sooner had Leorio come to that realization when the creature scratched and rubbed the moss on their forearm until their hand was stained blue. Suddenly, he had no doubt that the plants' roots dug white into the skin, just in the same pattern that could be found in Kurapika's scars.

Kurapika clamped his blue hand over the snarling mouth on his biceps. The glow increased, then faded as the moss crumbled away. When Kurapika lifted his hand, lichen had settled down on the spot, sealing the wound away.

His face twisted with concern and the corners of his mouth twitched. Then he spoke and while his lips moved, his voice seemed to echo right in Leorio's head. _'I leave you alone for half an hour and find you inside a young woman. Thanks for that.'_

The quip fell flat.

_'Aren't you glad to see me either way?'_ he asked softly.

_'I am, you have no idea. You weren't meant to ascend with me, but it appears I pulled you up either way.'_

The bathroom door shook in its frame under the impact of three heavy knocks, loud as thunderclaps from hell and just as gut-wrenching.

“What are you doing in there, you crazy bitch?” Bendot shouted.

Leorio yelped. “I slipped and fell,” he yelled back and prayed that he hadn't said much else aloud ever since he locked himself and Leroute in the bathroom. Bendot grumbled.

_'You need to get out of here, this instant,'_ Kurapika insisted. As if Leorio needed encouragement.

“We just came up with a rough plan,” he whispered back. “There's not much here to work with, so it took a bit.”

_'Leorio... it is you, talking, right? Could you stick to thinking instead of speaking? It's uncanny.'_

“You can hear my thoughts?”

_'I can, for some reason, although I'm not sure why_ you _can hear and see me. You shouldn't be able to, stuck in that body. Do you see in colors?'_

_'Yes. Should I not?'_

_'So your sensual input is definitely bound to hers, as suspected. I never possessed another body myself, you know. Can you leave? Stupid question, of course you can't, you had no training whatsoever. I think I could maybe push you out if I took your place and then slip back out just in time to avoid you drifting off. Possibly. Why do you always get in these situations?'_

_'Isn't it always your fault?'_ Leorio asked.

_'I know. Don't remind me.'_

_'I didn't mean to_ –'

_'I know. I_ know _, Leorio. So can we stop focusing on the blaming and focus on getting you out? The longer you spend possessing this... person, the more likely you'll get punished for it by the Order. What you're doing is highly illegal, even if it's an accident.'_

_'Can we run first and then exorcise me, when we're far far away from this place?'_

Kurapika fell quiet, but Leorio could see the hesitation settle in his face. If he focused on it enough, he could even _feel_ it. And he could feel how ardently he arranged his thoughts when he replied, _'The whole purpose of tonight's session was to find Leroute Villeneuve – which you did, I have no idea how, but you found her and you made contact with her, enough to find out if she requires and wishes to be saved. It is not your job to get her out of here but by drifting off you made it my job to get you back.'_

_'You plan on leaving her behind? Fuck that, we're in the middle of nowhere, how are we supposed to ever find this place again, you just said you have no idea how I did it in the first place. If we don't get her out now, we don't get a second chance.'_

_'She is being held here, is she not? What do you think will happen if you fail and she gets caught again? You are tied to this body now. If she dies, your mind will not float out and find its way back, that's not how it works. You will die, too. And I can't risk that. It's safer for the both of you if she stays.'_

Leroute's consciousness unfurled lazily; Leorio could feel its tendrils poking at him. _'So I don't get a say in this at all? Because it's my body and my mind. I should get twice the vote.'_

The woman had a point. Leorio argued this to Kurapika – who, as it turned out could not hear Leroute's thoughts. Kurapika had a theory as to why that was, but for once Leorio was not interested in listening, not when their time ran out.

Kurapika grew another pair of eyes over his clavicle. Leorio suspected he did that so he could stare them down better. _'She gets one vote,'_ he insisted.

_'The way I see it,'_ Leroute reasoned with Leorio, _'Is that your monster boy is really eager to get you out of here alive. So as long as you're stuck in my body, he will do his best to keep me alive too. And you actually try for my sake. If the both of you leave now... you're with the police, right? You're not private investigators?'_

_'I'm a cop, yes.'_

_'I'm not a little child anymore. I'm a grown woman and a crook, and when they come to get Bendot, he'll make sure to shift as much of the guilt on me as he can. You and your friend are my best shot to get out of here. I don't expect you to get me home to my mama, but at least dump me somewhere out of his reach.'_

To Leorio, this sounded like a bad compromise, because where was she going to go without money, without proper clothes, without anyone to give her shelter?

Kurapika sighed with frustration. _'You're not going to be happy until she has found some sort of refuge, right?'_

_'Have you seen this place? No one should live here. No one.'_

Kurapika smiled wanly. He reached out and placed his hand gently over Leroute's. Leorio felt their skin go numb.

_'Fine,'_ he said fondly. _'Let's run away.'_

 

**2**

Snow crunched and plastic rustled under his every step.

He had expected to walk on air, because how much could a body that was merely skin and bones weigh? Leroute had to be light as a bird and yet he wasn't flying.

He was moving like in a nightmare, running and running but he could gain no ground.

The rundown farmhouse was not yet out of sight and already his muscles started to burn with exhaustion. Another cramp had him stumbling and gasping for air. He skittered to a halt and groaned, doubling over. It felt like his innards twisted up in one big lump.

He wanted to curl up in a warm space and die.

_'Leorio,'_ Kurapika urged. Why he was bothering keeping up the illusion of running beside him, Leorio did not know; Kurapika could teleport just fine if he wanted to. But it was reassuring to have him near, within arm's reach.

“Give me a minute, okay. It'll be fine, I promise.” He squeaked as the pain peaked and then slowly faded out.

_'He's following already.'_

“Shit.” He couldn't even claim that he hadn't expected this. You couldn't break a window, or what was left of it, without making noise. Still, this happened far too soon for Leorio's liking. _“_ Did he see us? _”_

_'I'm not sure. He's heading in your direction, but he's not sprinting.'_

_'What if we hide and let him guide us to the car?'_ Leroute suggested.

_'Even if we hid well enough, could you keep quiet when the cramps hit?'_ Leorio asked.

Leroute fell silent. Then she said, dryly, _'You better hurry, boy.'_

He didn't need to be told twice. He tried his best to ignore the burning in their calves and their uterus and tried to conjure the lyrics of the next best song that popped into his head. His mind latched itself on an uncanny choice.

_'You're walking in the woods,'_ Leorio thought, hobbling into another run. _'There's no one around and your phone is dead. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him.'_

_'Leorio,'_ Kurapika interrupted. _'He just saw you.'_

_'He's following you, about 30 feet back,'_ Leorio thought angrily. Cold sweat broke out on his neck as he pictured Bendot’s angry mass pick up speed, coming right for them. _'He gets down on all fours and breaks into a sprint. He's gaining on you.'_

Run, run, _runrunrun_.

He didn't dare look behind him, he didn't want to know. Or step into a bear trap while he was at it.

_'Leorio,'_ Kurapika called out, this time with more urgency. _'We need to switch.'_

_'Now?'_

_'Yes. You just gave me an idea. I might be able to slow him down, or stop him altogether.'_

The cold air started to burn in their lungs and Leorio coughed as they seized up. He tasted blood in his breath. _'Okay. How?'_

Kurapika evaporated in a cloud of black dust. And re-materialized right in front of them.

Leorio had too much momentum to stop. He ran right into Kurapika, ran right _through_ him – and the world lost its colors. The world lost its crisp winter smell. Leorio turned... and stared Leroute right in the face. She was frozen to the spot, trembling. Her eyelids fluttered shut. When she opened them again, her glance was filled with purpose and her cheeks seemed fuller. Her shoulders straightened. “Don't lose yourself,” she said. It was easy to find Kurapika in her tone, half demanding, half lecturing.

Leorio looked down on himself to see what kind of monster he might have turned into. He found everything unchanged: his arms, his legs... even the suit was the one he had put on this morning. He was still himself. In color. _'You'd think literally being in someone else's skin would leave a mark on you,'_ he thought.

Kurapika turned on his heel, but he kept his eyes on Leorio. And then he started talking gibberish. Leorio wondered if something had gone wrong trying to possess that body... then he noticed that the words coming out of his mouth were not gibberish per se. Leorio recognized the harsh consonants of his enunciation as German. Kurapika started out quiet, then rose his voice slightly.

“ _Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?”_ he started.

“ _Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind._

_Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm...”_

He softened the words, as far as German can be softened. Hugs himself.

“ _Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.”_

Kurapika focused his attention on the man that madehis way towards them, fuming harder than a steam engine.

“ _Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?”_ he recited, walking slowly backwards. The snow melted in his footsteps.

Kurapika called, desperately, _“Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht? Den Erlenkönig mit Kron und Schweif?”_

Wood creaked and strained. Snow rippled off branches as they turned and bent down, reaching for Bendot. They caught in his coat – Leorio noticed with envy that this asshole had a coat to put on in the first place. Bendot swatted them away, but they kept coming, kept grabbing him.

_"Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif."_

Mist rose from the ground.

Bendot was stuck in a cage of branches. He struggled. He yelled, loud enough to overshadow Kurapika's intonation.

Kurapika cursed under his breath. The trees stopped moving.

_'Are you okay?'_

_'Yes, but I can't draw enough from my potential to keep the spell up. This body won't let me. We need to – oh no.'_

_'What?'_

Leorio feared that Bendot had already escaped his wooden cage. This was not the case; the man was still grappling with branches as thick as his arm. They would not budge, but he had found an opening between them that might be large enough to squeeze through. 'Might' being the key word, at the very last, it would buy them some time. So why was Kurapika not running?

“Did you see her?” he said, eyes searching frantically. “I didn't just imagine it?”

_'Imagine what?'_

“I should not have used that spell.”

_'There's nothing here, except us and the hulk over there. Come on, let's get moving.'_

Bendot's face flushed with anger as he struggled and squeezed – already he had freed shoulder and head and reached blindly for the more sturdy branches, to pull himself out.

“Wait.”

_'We can't afford to_ –’

In front of the dark wood, tiny crystals danced like snowflakes. They whirled together and grew, taking up color as they morphed, shaping a sculpture of a person. They had skin like agate: swirls of white and beige and gray marked their arms, but the hands ended in claws of quartz. Sharp edged and solid, but brittle. Garnet eyes staring numbly from underneath a citrine fringe of hair. Everything about their appearance was mismatched, the rings of her skin, the mottled specks of gold on their lapis lazuli dress.

_'Don't make a sound, Leorio'_ Kurapika demanded. _'Don't move too quickly, and think quiet thoughts. Try to come up with calming images instead of words. If she attacks us, flee. If you get lost, really lost, call for Chandni Nana, as loud and often as you can.'_

_'What the hell is going on?'_ Leorio asked and he tried to think _indoor voice_ , tried to think _whisper_. _'Who or what is this?'_

He understood that this apparition was no spirit, because it looked too human for this and at the same time it looked like something that had been grown under the surface of a clear lake in the bowels of the darkest mountain cave, where nothing human had ever set a foot into.

But Kurapika, too, appeared like a similar kind of monster in this place.

Bendot howled with frustration, as if to remind them that he was a monster as well.

The crystal woman turned with an agility that was unexpected in a creature of gems and stone.

Her clawed hands cradled Bendot's massive head. He hissed, his features twisting in discomfort, yet he was not alarmed. How could he, when she was invisible to him, when he could not hear her whisper, rough and mocking, like the call of a crow.

_'You are not my child,'_ she said.

Then she plunged her claws into his chest.

Bendot's breath whistled when his lungs seized up; his angry face turned darker still as he shook spasmodically and clawed into the tree bark. Then he went terribly limp.

“No,” Kurapika said under his breath, as he watched the scene wide-eyed and vulnerable.

The woman let go of her prey slowly, hands poised in a weird angle and eyed Kurapika with a distant curiosity. She reminded Leorio eerily of a praying mantis.

“Why did you do that?” Kurapika shouted at her.

_'Shouldn't we rather leave her be?'_ As much as Leorio respected Kurapika's hunger for knowledge, this really was the worst time for it.

_'Go, Leorio. Slowly.'_

_'She hasn't attacked us yet, has she?'_ Leorio retorted. Because like hell was he leaving them alone with the crazy gem lady.

_'If we're lucky she might not hurt us at all. But there's no way to know for sure.'_

He could almost feel Kurapika's desperation; he was well acquainted enough with the feeling to recognize it, even when it was not his own, when it worried only his edges rather than twist up everything from his core. He had never seen Kurapika like this. So... lost.

_'I'm searching for my son,'_ she said, languidly, as if she had just woken from a dream. _'He called for me. Have you seen him?'_

“Zora,” Kurapika said and there was a hint of recognition in her vermilion eyes. “Your son is not here. You should return to your husband.”

_'My husband is dead. My son is all I have left.'_

The corners of Leroute's mouth curled up in a lopsided snarl, half upset, half spooked. “Still,” Kurapika said and his voice cracked. “There is nothing here for you.”

The woman, Zora, took this as an admission that they knew something. She came towards them, begging. _'Did you talk to him? Where did he go to? Please, tell me. I must find him before they do.'_ Her claws shrank to fingers and turned gray, turned stiff. She rubbed them like an old woman trying to ease the arthritis out of her bones.

_'Who are_ they _?'_ Leorio asked.

She looked at him, baffled. _'Why, the homunculi of course.'_

_'Don't encourage her, Leorio,'_ Kurapika reprimanded him, _'She's just... confused. An echo of a once-living person that can't get the facts straight. You can't rely on her to make sense.'_

_'I'm not the one who keeps chattering with her,'_ Leorio pointed out, somewhat grumpy.

Kurapika ignored him. And despite being clearly distressed, he leaned towards Zora rather than step back to remain some distance. He reached for her hands. They flickered and he was going to reach right through her, but she had a way of making herself more solid – or he had a way of making himself more solid to her.

Leorio could not tell which one was which; he did not feel insubstantial either and he was made of the same stuff as she, wasn't he? One way or another, Kurapika held onto her. And once more he asked, no, begged her to leave.

“I'm sorry we cannot help you, I really am. But you must try to find peace. Your son is alright; there is no need to worry about him.”

_'You feel familiar. And you're telling the truth.'_ She smiled weakly and the stripes and swirls of her skin faded ever so slightly, until they were almost impossible to discern. She discarded her gemstone facade to become softer, more vulnerable and as she blinked, her eyes turned from garnet to pearls of amber. Thus human, her face had a striking resemblance. The slender, almond shape of her chin, her prominent cheekbones. The arch of her brows. She looked a lot like–

_'Kurapika,'_ Leorio thought, far too clearly, but he couldn't help it.

Zora was caught by surprise. New patches of quartz grew underneath her earlobe, spreading over her neck like a collar. _'That's not the name I gave my son,'_ she chided, as if he had said something inappropriate. _'It's close, but you could make more of an effort to pronounce it right.'_

_'Well, how do you pronounce it right, then?'_

_'I... can't remember. I would call him, if I did, and spare him the trouble of searching me.'_

_'Assuming he is searching you in the first place.'_

“Leorio!” Kurapika hissed, his expression hardening.

_'I'm sorry! I can't help thinking, can I?'_ More than that, he could not help thinking in words. Angrily, he turned away from the conversation and stared hard at the bark of the nearest tree.

“Where were you before you came here?”

_'I was with Efraim.'_

“Just to be clear,” Kurapika asked, “You are referring to Efraim Mikkal Kurta, your husband?”

_'Of course.'_

_'You said your husband is dead,'_ Leorio interrupted. Which, he realized, was just one of the many things that did not make sense. Aside from... everything else that also didn't make sense but in a different way. He couldn't afford to pick out the details, lest he wanted to lay everything neatly out to her.

He could feel Zora looking at him, or seeking him out, her attention prickling his back. _'Why, of course he is,'_ she said with surprised wonderment. She had this way of speaking like she expected everyone just to know what she knew; now he knew where Kurapika got this from. _'So am I. So are you, I reckon.'_

_'I'm not dead,'_ Leorio protested and balled his hands to fists. _'I think I knew if... I would know, wouldn't I?'_ He hadn't been able to tell the difference when he woke up in a different body. But if someone were to, say, stab him, he would feel it? Surely?

Kurapika must have let go of Zora's hands, because the next thing Leorio knew, he heard snow crunch under footsteps and felt a pressure on his shoulders, then a hot and cold prickling in the shape of a handprint as Kurapika reached out for him.

_'You can still hear me, can't you? You can hear my thoughts.'_

_'I can,'_ Leorio confirmed.

_'See? It means our bodies – our real bodies – are still alive and connected. Don't let her confuse you. She mistook you for a lingering mind, a ghost of you prefer that word, because you look so human. That's all. A dreamseer is not supposed to look like a person; we are taught from a young age that the appearance of the mind should not be restricted by the shape of the body.’_

Leorio huffed. _'You look like you do on purpose?'_

_'There is safety and honesty in looking like a monster, you know. The people whose dreams we roam deserve to know we don't belong there. And it gives us some anonymity because they don't know how our bodies look. So we learn to think of ourselves in metaphors. We learn to be malleable. But often... dissociation is not the only threat to our mental state. Depersonalization is a common issue, which can make it hard to maintain a shape. We become vague, obscure. And then we have to reinvent ourselves, we need therapy and we need to learn how to think of ourselves as persons again. It's incredibly hard. So, honestly?'_

Kurapika sighed and Leorio felt his warmth, the kind that was born from gentleness and affection, pour into him. _'I'm glad that you came out looking like yourself.'_

_'Is that what's wrong with her? She forgot that she's a person?'_

_'Are you talking about me? How rude of you!'_ Zora laughed. _'I'll have you know there is nothing wrong with me, thank you very much. Ah, that reminds me.'_ She offered them a warm, inviting smile. The kind of smile a parent should have, the kind of smile that Leorio never received from his father and that he hoped to find in his mother, should he ever meet her. _'Did you happen to see my son? I came here to find him.'_

Kurapika's hand flew to his pelvis and his face contorted. He leaned into Leorio a bit too much and Leorio tried to think himself as solid as possible, as supporting as possible. It had to be working because Kurapika didn't fall through him. Leorio put an arm around Kurapika's shoulders, to hold him close.

Kurapika watched his mother with eyes too dark and miserable. _'She is dying, that's what happens to her. She has been dying for years now. Normally, when a person gets killed, their mind just disappears like the trail of smoke after you snuff out a candle. They don't end up here. But my parents... they got killed in an attack on our temple. They were in the middle of a session when a bomb went up. So they were cut off from their bodies in a state that is neither alive nor dead. And when you're in a state like that, you begin falling apart slowly, you begin forgetting who you are. Sometimes, there is enough of her left that I can recognize her, but her memory suffers from it. More often than not, she picks up a task she thinks she is supposed to do – like searching or protecting me – and loses herself in it until she forgets what she is doing it for. It's...'_

His thoughts trailed off, and Leorio could hear Kurapika struggling for the right word, exhausted and irritated. _'Wearing you out?'_ he offered. _'Tugging at all your seams?'_

_'It is.'_

“Mama?” Kurapika called out. His voice was small and frail but Zora perked up immediately.

_'Yes, dear?'_

“I think you left the stove on.”

She hesitated. A frown carved itself deep in her hard face. _'I did? Are you sure?'_

“No, but could you check? We don't want the house to burn down when Papa comes home.”

Was it Kurapika's certainty or the lack of her own memories that made her swallow this lie so quick? Whatever the reason, she disappeared with a gasp and a terrifying cracking noise, like teeth being crushed by a dentist's pliers.

“See?” Kurapika said weakly. “All I need to do is give her something to do and with a little luck, she will have forgotten all about me in a few minutes. If I hadn't used the haunting spell she taught me, she might not have remembered I even existed.”

Leorio thought this the most terrifying and disheartening thing he ever heard.

Kurapika pressed his fingers against Bendot's fleshy neck, well knowing he would find no pulse. But he had to be absolutely certain; whatever this man's fate, he had had a part in it.

“He's dead,” he announced, ignoring the sickening lurch of his stomach.

_'We have to call the police,'_ Leorio insisted.

Leroute did not like this at all. _'Not after you got my prints on him, you won't.'_

“And what exactly are we supposed to tell them? That we were busy running away from him when the wood reached out to stop him, which caused him a sudden but inevitable heart attack?”

_'How about you just tell the truth, for once?'_ Leorio suggested, exasperated. _'I mean, it's obvious there is magic involved.'_

“Yes and I'm going to have to report to the Order anyway once we arrive there. If we call the police they will question me – they will question _her_. Which means I will be stuck in this body for the next couple of days, most likely. And that's assuming that they will believe us and not just shrug off our story as the wild rambling of a mentally ill junkie. Which this girl is, no doubt, so it's even more irresponsible to put her in the care of people that will hold this against her.”

Leorio looked offended, and Kurapika had expected this reaction. He was a cop, a _good_ cop because he thought in all earnestness that his job was about helping people and he acted accordingly. But unfortunately, every person was vulnerable to prejudice, and cops were no exception. The same could be said for alchemists – they were inclined to help their own and yes, it was not uncommon for them to ignore someone's faults simply because they had magic – exactly the kind of attitude that Leroute could use right now.

“Leorio, don't look at me like that. It's not like I'm trying to cover up a crime. But we have no way of knowing if the police here is even prepared to deal with magical incidents like these.”

_'No offense, but I don't like either option,'_ Leroute piped up. _'The peacocks never cared about me before I went missing, because I wasn't promising enough then. And they never really cared about me afterwards, if it took you eight years to find me. I don't trust them to start caring now.'_

“Do you have an alternative?” Kurapika asked, irritably. Truth be told, it was more for Leorio than Leroute: he was not in the mood to argue and if they kept shooting down his every suggestion, he might end up yelling at Leorio and regretting it deeply.

_'What about the Cuckoo's Nest? They will take care of her, no matter her circumstances. We'd only need a way to contact them.'_

“Palm might know how. I'll ask her as soon as we return. But, first–”

Leroute's arms were uncomfortably thin, but that made it even easier for Kurapika to reach through the branches and into Bendot's coat. A bit of spare change was all he found, no keys, no wallet – it would have been too good to hope for anyway. He took the coins and Leorio didn't even complain.

“Let's go find that car.”

It took them no time to get lost in the woods, no time at all.

And the night lowered its thick, dark veil over them completely.

They could still see – nothing could brighten up the night like a thick coat of snow and a waxing moon – but they could not see far ahead and all the trees made it impossible to find a straight path. If Bendot had marked the trail to his car, they saw no hints.

Leorio grew increasingly antsy every time Kurapika stopped to suffer through another wave of pain.

Perhaps because it took Kurapika longer and longer to recover; he was too exhausted to gather the motivation to walk anymore. With every step he dragged his feet more and more, with every step the desire rose to just sit down and rest for hours. Kurapika was too cranky and stubborn to let that stop him; even if he slowed down he refused to halt until he fell unconscious. Except he couldn't afford that either: he pictured this body blacking out, leaving Leorio unguided and confused, maybe panicking.

How long until he reached that point?

Leorio felt his concern. _'Do you think it could help if we switch back? You could maybe find the car by teleporting to it_ –'

“No,” Kurapika stopped and bent forward, digging his hands in his weak thighs. “You can't get back in that body. I'm sure you already know, but possession is a crime. And there's no point, anyway. I can find places I've been to and people I know, but a car? No.”

_'I've already been in that body.'_

“Accidentally. That's something else entirely.”

_'You could go back into your body and send help.'_

“I'm not going to leave you here. We need to go together, you have no circle that ties you to your body, no safety line. You won't find your way back and I might not find you again if you pass out.” Kurapika had tried to summon Chandni a few times by muttering her name under his breath, but she was not in the astral layer. “There might be a way to get you back to our bodies.”

_'A safe one?'_

“Safe enough that I trust you with it.”

Leroute informed Kurapika that she thought it a horrible plan, once she gathered the details from his mind and he could see why she was skeptic – after meeting his mother he would have been cautious too. “I'm going to ask my father for help.”

_'Your_ dead _father?'_

“It will be alright, he is more stable than my mother. He used to be the only one who could calm her down.”

_'Was that why you mentioned him by his full name earlier? To call him? Because that apparently didn't work.'_

“Words don't always reach very far. And they don't compel until you put magic in them, which I couldn't do because... because she was touching me and she would have known. He can take you back, because he will be able to find my body.”

_'Fine. I trust you.'_

**3**

When Leorio woke up the second time, his heart fell in a panicked frenzy.

The constellations painted on the ceiling could not silence the overwhelming sense of wrongness that tugged at his every nerve. He was overly aware of the suffocating heat between his skin and the heavy fabric of his clothes, of the sweat soaking his shirt across his back, his neck, under his armpits. Right. He had worn a suit when he got here. What a dumb idea. He felt like a baked potato. And yet, despite all the evidence telling him that this body was his, it didn't feel like it. This body did not feel more or less a home that Leroute's had upon first inspection.

It was fucked up – to think that parts of him were interchangeable, to think that how well you lived in a body was just a matter of habit.

But there were fingers intertwined with his and somehow, that made him feel a little bit safer.

Leorio sat up. Immediately, the world spun and turned into a carousel of colors. He got dizzy and nauseous. Someone gave him a bucket and Leorio could not even say thank you before the bile rose up in his throat.

He heaved, one, two, too many times until he felt sore and even sweatier than before and everything smelled like vomit. Enough to make him gag again.

He couldn't recall ever feeling so disgusting and unclean in his life before. Leorio ached for a shower, but not even that would do. He wanted to rinse out every pore of his existence.

He was pulled to his feet by a beautiful lady with the longest, shiniest hair he had ever seen and an alchemical circle tattooed right on her forehead. Palm. For a moment Leorio was mesmerized by the sharp lines of her purple tinted lipstick that seemed so surreal compared to the foggy, wobbly quality of reality. She held onto his arm to support him and then Melody appeared by his side too, patting his hand and begging him to let everyone look after him and not to worry; she promised to look after Kurapika when he woke.

“We found the girl,” Leorio croaked. Speaking hurt. “He stayed behind with her. Said something about marking her, so she could be picked up. We need to contact the Cuckoo's Nest.”

“Good. Thank you. We'll make sure to get them safe as quick as possible. Palm will take you to a guest quarter where you can wash up, drink something and change your clothes.” Melody let go of him with a final affirmative squeeze.

“But I didn't bring any spare clothes.”

“We can lend you some. And if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask.”

“Cool,” Leorio said, because he was too tired to be humble and decline the offer.

 

The room he was led to was small, but not crammed. It held a double bed with nightstands to either side, a cupboard, and a wardrobe. Everything was clean and neat and simple, not unlike a hotel room... except for the flickering candles on the cupboard and the scent of incense that hung in the air without a source.

Leorio checked the door that was set into the opposite wall, hoping to find a bathroom and indeed, he found one. Small and white-tiled, almost clinically clean, with an inviting corner shower. Along the sink on a plate of cut and polished gneiss he found a bite-sized bar of soap and disposable toothbrushes.

Leorio disappeared in the bathroom right away. He rinsed out his mouth over the sink, blew his nose a couple of times until it felt as sore as his throat, and until he smelled copper instead of vomit. Then he brushed his teeth aggressively until his gums started to bleed. He washed his face.

When he was done, he felt a little less dirty, at least. But also heavy with exhaustion.

Fuck showering, then. There was always the morning.

When he returned to his room, a bottle of blue gatorade had been left on the nightstand. Not quite what Leorio considered a decent drink, but he remembered the grape sugar water that Kurapika always drank at work to keep himself going. Leorio sat down on the edge of the bed and forced himself to drink at least half of the bottle's content.

He stripped down to his underwear and slipped under the covers, falling asleep almost instantly.

 

The next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake vigorously while cold artificial lamplight stung in his eyes.

“Leorio? Leorio, get up.”

“Pika?” Leorio asked weakly. He squint-blinked to adjust to the brightness; Kurapika was nothing but a looming dark shadow. This time, there were no glowing eyes staring back at him. “What's going on? How late is it? How long was I out of it?”

“It's five in the morning. Hurry up, we're going home.”

“Kurapika, for fuck's sake.” He turned and buried his face in the pillow, telling the downs that they had an agreement about reasonable times and that five fucking AM did not count as reasonable. His choice of words may have been less elegant. In fact, what he said, muffled, was, “Fucking fuck off and don't come back before seven.”

Kurapika pulled off the covers and Leorio grunted in protest, but did not move. The mattress dipped slightly under additional weight.

“Leorio,” Kurapika tried again, more softly, as he came to lie beside him. “Please,” he whispered. Waves of cold air radiated from his body and cold were the lips that pressed down on Leorio's cheek. At least his breath was warm where it met Leorio's neck and cheek. Kurapika tugged playfully at the short hair that grew right over Leorio's ear. Two more kisses and Leorio was mollified enough to turn his face towards Kurapika and peek up with one eye.

Kurapika only looked half as shitty as Leorio felt and he marveled at the unfairness of this. He had not had much time to study the way Kurapika's hair framed his face and curled gently in the small valley where his shoulder and neck met, nor how his tongue slipped out to brush over his lower lip – for Kurapika leaned in closer, lips slightly parted.

Leorio knew deep down that it was a trap, even as he met Kurapika half way for a kiss. It began soft and slow, Leorio's lips moving carefully while Kurapika buried his hand deeper in Leorio's hair, nails scraping over his scalp lightly. Then Kurapika sighed, and became eager, craving. He brought their lips hard enough together to bruise and caught Leorio's bottom lip between his teeth.

Leorio's eyes flew open with surprise.

Kurapika let go of Leorio and propped his head on his elbow nonchalantly. “Are you awake enough now?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“Maybe. You should kiss me again, just to be sure.”

Kurapika blessed him with a weak smile. “I'm sorry, but no. You need to take a bath first.”

“This bathroom only has a shower. I mean, point taken,” Leorio said and sniffed his shoulder. He did not reek so much, but his skin felt waxy. “But they don't have a bathtub here.”

“A shower won't do at all, I need you to take a bath. A special one, to prevent dissociation – the kind that is caused by dreamseeing, I mean. That's why I want to take you home. And if we hurry, we can still catch the 5:20 train.”

With the vague promise of more kisses and his own bed to sleep in, Leorio heaved himself up and swung his legs over the mattress, turning his back to Kurapika.

“How are you so alive right now? Awake. I mean awake. Actually no, I mean alive, because coming down from a session is absolutely disgusting. You don't look like you just came back.”

“I woke up two hours ago. I checked on you but you were out cold, so I went to the office and filed my reports already. The people from the Cuckoo's Nest promised to send a bird to our temple once they bring Leroute to one of their shelters; she is receiving medical attention right now.”

Leorio blinked lazily. He struggled with untangling his pants long enough to notice there was something off about the pause that followed. He asked no questions, he provided no comment, just to see how much it would stretch further on. Long enough for him to finish putting on his pants and button up his shirt, apparently, despite the sluggishness of his limbs. He was about to fix his cuffs when Kurapika said, “The secretaries were not too happy with how tonight's events unfurled. Looks like I'm grounded until they investigated the case. It's just a formality, I'm sure. And I could convince them that you did nothing illegal. But...” He sighed and smoothed the sheets with his hands. The mattress squeaked quietly when he stood up. “Someone lost their life. It will take at least 3 eyewitnesses to back up my report.”

“Where are they going to find eyewitnesses?” Leorio tried and fumbled with his tie, then decided it wasn't worth the time; he slipped on his suit jacket and stuffed the tie in its inner pockets.

“In a temple full of clairvoyants? Please. But visions of the past cannot be forced. It will take weeks until they have all the information they need. And they will probably question you too, once they're done with that.” Kurapika was sardonic. Kurapika _paced_ , which he never did and Leorio knew there was a train to catch, but he found it hard to believe that this was the only reason for Kurapika's restlessness. “Are you alright?”

Kurapika stopped, abruptly, and looked back at Leorio with bewilderment, as if this was the question he had least expected.

“I mean, seeing your parents like that, especially your mom, that must be painful. If you want to talk about it–”

“I know,” he cut Leorio off dismissively. “But all I want to do right now is get out of here and take you home. Can we do that?”

“Sure,” Leorio replied quietly. He was not happy with the tone in which this issue was cast aside, or with the way Kurapika grabbed him by the elbow and hurried him along, but this was _Kurapika_. He had his own pace tackling things. Sometimes, this meant waiting for him to open up and hoping he didn't hurt himself while getting worked up about a thing.

 

**4**

 

Kurapika held on too tightly, aggressively, glaring back at everyone who dared to look at them a little bit too long. He was like a mother bear watching over his cub, but instead of grooming, he took Leorio's hands in his and massaged them. He knew that sheer willpower alone could not prevent Leorio from dissociating, but with every circle he drew with his fingertips, he imagined himself easing out some stress, untangling and smoothing the proverbial strings between the body and the mind that the session would have thrown in disarray.

Magic could not fix this.

There was no spell to improve a person's mental state, if there was, Kurapika would have used it to help his parents move on long time ago. But there were treatments for the body. Over the years he had been showered with advice for dreamseeing aftercare and although he had disregarded most of these as time-consuming and impractical, he was eager to pass them onto Leorio. He would do anything to fix the mistake he had made, anything to chase away the wretched feeling that burned low in his gut like cheap whiskey.

The morning was still dark when they stepped out of the train, just a small strip of orange teasing the horizon. A humid cold hung in the air, the kind that crept underneath your clothes and between your window frames. I was no surprise they found their apartment haunted by that same chill.

Pairo greeted them from his basket in the living room, uttering a single miserable wail.

Kurapika asked Leorio to prepare Pairo's breakfast while he would slip into the bathroom and prepare everything else.

He turned up the heater and went to his room while the bathroom warmed up, to retrieve the most important supplies. At the bottom of Kurapika's closet was a small wooden trunk that was only pulled out every two months for a closer inspection. Opening it revealed two dozens of glass flasks and vials strapped against its linings. Salts, dried herbs, aromatic oils, a few crystals – everything the neopagan heart desired. Which was exactly why Kurapika was not too fond of these methods; herbal remedies and aromatherapy were for commoners who wanted to feel a little bit more magical than they were, but without having to pay a price for it. Regardless, he made sure to use up and restock the herbs before they went bad because it was a poor alchemist who could not keep his tools and supplies in good shape.

Kurapika ran the water as hot as the tap would let him and filled the tub halfway, adding just a bit of bubble bath before he went on to the proper additives.

Roughly a tablespoon of salt, for its cleansing properties.

Oil of lavender and jasmine, to restore balance.

Oil of bergamot, to treat exhaustion, to quench fears. To strengthen.

And lots and lots of dried rosemary. It added a homely note to the overwhelming floral bouquet spreading in the small room.

Kurapika's hair puffed up and curled from the humidity and he grew more and more uncomfortable in his clothes. By the time Leorio knocked on the bathroom door, Kurapika had discarded his sweater and was unsticking his undershirt from his chest. “You can come in.”

“Are you trying to make a sauna out of this place?” Leorio joked when he opened the door just wide enough to push through. He closed it quickly behind him; heat was not a thing to be wasted.

“Something like that. You should soak in the water for a while, unless you start feeling dizzy or itchy. Avoid swallowing the water or getting it into your eyes.” Kurapika got his phone out and set a timer for twenty minutes, then slipped it back into his pant's pocket. Leorio stepped in front of the tub and started peeling out of his clothes.

“You might want to rinse yourself thoroughly when you're done. It's no fun getting herbs everywhere, you know,” Kurapika said, carefully watching Leorio only from the corner of his eyes. He was captivated by the way Leorio's shoulders stretched impossibly broad when he slipped the stiff shirt off, and the nebula of freckles that spread over his skin. He had yet to get the opportunity to cherish what he saw: while Leorio was comfortable undressing in Kurapika's presence, they had not engaged in any remotely sexual activity thus far. Not due to any lack of wanting, at least if you asked Kurapika, but he kept his desires to himself as best as he could. Leorio worried easily. And the one thing he shouldn't have to worry about was that Kurapika would have any _expectations_ when they tackled certain aspects of their relationship.

Did that mean that his mouth did not run dry when Leorio unzipped his pants and let them pool softly around his ankles, displaying a pair of tight boxer briefs that accentuated his butt beautifully? Certainly not. Leorio had a habit of wearing regular boxers as pajamas, or a pair of jersey pants above this now that the nights were getting frosty cold; neither item did his somewhat plump behind any justice. Or his well defined thighs, for that matter.

Kurapika was so very glad that he could blame his burning cheeks on the humidity.

“I'll get you some clean clothes,” he offered, and fled the bathroom before he could find out if Leorio took his underwear or his socks off first.

Kurapika sprinted into Leorio's room and slumped against the door, fanning some air to his heated face. The bed was a mess, as usual, which did nothing to get his mind off its steamy track. Going through Leorio's clothes helped a little; it was a mundane enough task, something to keep his hands busy. He put together sleepwear, which meant he could review Leorio's collection of ridiculously nerdy boxers once more, choosing the Spongebob ones because they were the least appealing. A plain T-shirt, jersey pants, socks – he was done too quick and so stopped by his own room, to check on his appearance. Kurapika was fussy when it came to his looks; it was just one of the aspects of his life that he preferred to have control over. And now his cheeks were blotched with color in a very unattractive manner and his hair had poofed up awkwardly. There was nothing to be done for his flushed skin, but he put up his hair in a tiny ponytail to keep some of the volume down.

 

He went back into the bathroom, not bothering to knock. There was no need to; he was expected after all.

Kurapika was greeted with the sight of Leorio's bare ass as his boyfriend was half bent over the tub, testing the water by dipping his elbow in it.

He would later pretend he handled the situation with more dignity.

He would later claim he did not shriek with surprise and cover his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kurapika asked and recognized with dismay that his voice was too high pitched to play it cool. “You were supposed to be in the water five minutes ago.”

“And I would have climbed in by now, if it wasn't scalding,” Leorio complained. He made no motion to cover up his nudity, nor had he the dignity to act at least flustered. _Leorio_ , who got all squirrelly over chaste kisses. “Were you trying to cook me?”

“The temperature helps the essential oils to spread in the room.”

“Are you alright?” Leorio wanted to know when he discovered that Kurapika had deliberately turned his back on him. “You mad at me for some reason?”

“If you're not hopping in, could you please put your underwear back on? That would be most kind.” Kurapika was careful not to weigh too much sarcasm into his words while he struggled to regain some balance. His heart beat too feverishly, his blood rushed too loudly in his ears. Humidity pressed down on him as hot as the knowledge that he was within arm's reach of the stark naked subject of his most ardent desires.

Leorio sputtered and dug through the heap of his clothes for his briefs. “Sorry, I didn't think it would bother you.”

Oh, Kurapika was bothered, alright. And Leorio gave him no chance to deny it.

“I figured as my boyfriend you might want to see me naked at some point anyway. Guess I shouldn't have made assumptions, huh?” he continued, chuckling a little and more speaking to himself. “I hope I didn't make you too uncomfortable.”

“I'm not uncomfortable,” Kurapika said, because he didn't want Leorio to think he was. And it was not like Leorio did anything wrong, after all. “It's you I'm concerned about.”

“I'm obviously very comfortable being naked, but, uh... thanks for the concern? I'm somewhat decent again, by the way, you can look.”

“Well, maybe I don't want to look your way.”

“Hey, I'm not that ugly.”

“I know!” Kurapika shouted, and put down the stack of clothes he carried a little too forcefully. “That's exactly my problem.”

“I'm not sure I can follow you, do you want me to be ugly, or...?”

Kurapika turned, quick as a whip, index finger raised to give Leorio a piece of his mind, when his attention caught on the perfectly relaxed body language of the man before him and he would be damned if there wasn't a twinkle in his eye as well.

Leorio was teasing him, Kurapika realized. Too late. He had already taken the bait. “Did it occur to you that maybe prancing around stark naked could be a bit overwhelming for me? I know it was my fault for not knocking, but for future reference, warn me next time you're not wearing clothes.”

“Or what? You're going to faint? You won't be able to keep your hands off my chiseled body? You're going to turn into a vampire and suck me dry? Maybe I'm into that.”

“Don't make fun of me, you ass!” Kurapika roared with frustration. He grabbed behind himself, throwing the next best thing he had in Leorio's face. Which, unfortunately, was the pair of socks. They hit Leorio's forehead with an unimpressive thud, bounced over his head, and plummeted right into the bathwater. Leorio, far from being impressed, burst into delighted laughter.

“I'm going to _murder_ you,” Kurapika hissed, embarrassment singing loud in his veins. It sang even louder when he was pulled into a crushing hug. He raised his fist to Leorio's chest, but otherwise did not resist.

“That's a bit crass, don't you think,” Leorio said softly, fondly. Kurapika could feel the laughter shake his chest like an earthquake. He smelled a bit sour, but not in an unpleasant way.

“I hate you,” Kurapika whispered against Leorio's skin, with no small amount of hurt pride. His hands trembled as he unfurled them and he pressed his cheek against Leorio's chest, better to hear his heartbeat, better to breathe in his scent.

“Well, that's a real shame. I had hoped the opposite would be true, but I guess we're a recipe for disaster.”

He placed one of his big hands against the side of Kurapika's face. His thumb rubbed against the temple gently, in a motion that was both affectionate, protective and calming.

“Get in the water before I am tempted to drown you in it.”

Leorio hummed pensively. “Will you join me?”

“You must be joking.”

“You said it was supposed to help prevent dissociation, well, I'm not the only one who could use that treatment then. Please? I promise to leave on my underwear and you can leave on as much clothes as you want, I just want to... have you close, you know.”

He found himself growing soft. He found himself wanting to stay, not just by Leorio's side, but in this moment. For once, everything was alright, almost safe. He knew he could not trust that things would remain that way.

He thought of his mother, confused and drastically changed, living (and not quite living) a different reality every day. He thought of Pairo lying in a hospital bed while the _Dead Man Walking_ curse turned his body into a quickly corroding prison. He thought of Pairo's mind struggling to adapt to its new, feline shell and to this day still wondered if he had done him a favor or if he just made it worse. (But Pairo had been all the family he had left, and at this point, Kurapika really thought he would be saving him.)

But he also thought of his father, who was still quite himself, even in limbo, green and full of life, new buds growing in his wrinkled bark, ready to leave his personhood behind to transform into something new and nourishing, but choosing to stay and chase the woman he loved.

( _It's alright, she spent her time hunting me through every dream when we met,'_ he had said when Kurapika told him that he had to send Zora away, for the sake of everyone's safety. _'Now it's my turn. Don't worry, I'll find her. I always do.'_ )

Everyone he loved turned into fairy tales.

Not even Mizaistom had been spared this fate. How long until the people working under him started to notice that age could not touch him?

Kurapika had yet to find evidence that life could be kind to him.

He could only hope that Leorio was exempt from this simply for being himself; he was the exception to rules mundane and magical, the ultimate precedent case. He had walked out of his hardships better off than before and kinder, gentler.

“Leorio?”

“Yes?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“What kind of favor?”

“Get me out of my clothes.”

 

Kurapika had lovers prying him out of his clothes much more eagerly, and while Leorio wasn't even taking his time, he got all happily excited and very easily distracted by what he laid bare even if there was a lot of Kurapika he had seen before.

Kurapika wrapped his arms around Leorio's neck and sighed. He enjoyed every second and tried to pay attention to the little details, so he could remember them fondly later: how Leorio visibly swallowed when he got his first glimpse of Kurapika's chest, the careful way he let his palms run over Kurapika's sides. He was sweet. Admiring. He was so, so good, and his smile was enough to light a fire in Kurapika's heart. As for his touches, they stoked a fire of a different kind, once they traveled lower. Leorio undid Kurapika's pants quickly, with expertise and as he pushed them over narrow hips, Kurapika got on his tiptoes. He arched his body of against Leorio's bent over shape and seized him down into a hungry kiss.

He weighed all of his hopes and desires into it. Every pull of his lip said _I have been longing for this_ , every push of his tongue hummed _I want to take you, I want to plant myself into you_ , every little bite and nip whispered _you are mine and I want to take a part of you with me_.

Every now and then, their teeth would accidentally clash, but they shrugged that off with giggling.

Leorio was a noisy kisser, Kurapika noticed with delight; he would huff and groan and gasp. He was also the sort of man who knew how to put his hands on a butt and hold onto it without being rude. (Not that Kurapika always minded being treated rudely, sometimes he was quite in the mood for it.)

“Pika,” Leorio whispered, coarse and desperately. He pulled back far enough to give his words a bit of room, far enough that he could be reeled back in for another kiss any time.

Kurapika fell back on his heels and released the iron grip around Leorio's neck. He let his hands slip on his lover's chest and placed a tiny kiss on his sternum.

“Can I–” Leorio swallowed the rest of the words, they stumbled back into his throat with the bobbing of his Adam's apple. He went down on his knees.

Kurapika inhaled sharply, almost alarmed. “What are you doing?” It sounded like an accusation. He hadn't meant for it to sound like one, but too late – he could see Leorio's certainty crumble.

“Well, I was going to show you a good time. You – you don't look happy about that at all.”

“Leorio, please get back on your feet.”

“You think I can't do that, don't you?” Leorio pressed, revealing more of his own worries rather than Kurapika's. “Listen, I don't want to brag, but I know how to work my tongue. And I've been on the receiving end of a blow job often enough to get the idea how it's done. Just because I've never slept with a guy before doesn't mean–”

“Leorio!” Kurapika interrupted him with a bit more edge than necessary, carrying his frustration on his sleeve. “You are the single most daft fool I have ever had the luck of falling in love with. I don't care about how much experience you have had with whom. That's not what this is about. I don't want you to do this because I think it's one of the least intimate things you can do right now. I don't want you to get on your knees for me because I want to meet you eye to eye.”

Kurapika took Leorio's face in his hand and regarded him with devotion. He would have blessed him, a thousand times: for trying so hard, for being earnest, for thinking that Kurapika could be good. Kurapika had no power to give a blessing, so kisses would have to do. He planted them carefully like seeds on his his forehead.

Leorio cleared his throat as he got awkwardly to his feet. “Guess I quite ruined the mood, huh?”

“Who cares about the mood,” Kurapika whispered. “I don’t.”

In the heaps of clothes on the ground, Kurapika’s alarm began to buzz, reminding them what they had originally meant to do.

“Oh. I guess we should–”

“Yes,” Kurapika said.

And Leorio finally – finally! – got his long legs into the tub like a cautious stork and sat down, waiting eagerly for his boyfriend to join. Which he did, frowning over how lukewarm the water had gotten. He hummed, weaving his magic lazily into the sound without giving it much of a purpose – it lay in the nature of energy to turn into heat if it was driven by no impulse.

The water's temperature rose back to a slightly more pleasant and relaxing level.

Leorio whistled appreciatively. “Someone is getting real hot in here.”

“Don't,” Kurapika warned. He plucked the socks out of the water, wrung them out and dumped them in the sink.

But Leorio had already put on his shit-eating grin, which meant he was fully prepared to make things worse. “If you got any hotter, things could get really... _steamy_ in here.”

Kurapika hit his flat hand on the water's surface with the most satisfying splash, most of which hit Leorio’s hairy chest rather than his face. He sputtered anyway.

“This is your idea of seduction? _Puns_?”

“And flattery,” Leorio added lamely. “Of course, if you'd rather hear any poetry, then... I don't know any poetry by heart, sorry. I could learn! I hope you like Shakespeare.”

Kurapika sighed, resigning in his fate of dating a man who was a _terrible_ dork. He made himself comfortable – sitting down with his back to Leorio's chest just so he didn't have to see any of his broad and muscular torso anymore, there mere sight of it which was teasing Kurapika, inviting him to place his hands against the canvas of his skin like the heroine on the cover of a raunchy novel. He refused to be a cliché; he didn't need a pair of thick, strong arms wrapped around his frame to keep him warm in the night. But he wanted them, he thought grumpily as he reached for them and guided them to his waist.

Leorio made a small, amused 'oh' and shifted ever so slightly, he drew up his knees to ensure that Kurapika had more room between his impossibly long legs. The knees broke the surface like two knobbly islands emerging from a milky, foaming sea, his leg hair floated in the water like strings of algae. Leorio was rather hairy in general. Leorio was in many ways not what Kurapika would have imagined to be 'his type'. He was a bit too tweedy for Kurapika's usual taste in partners, for once. He had always pictured himself dating a university professor or an author – someone who was eloquent and well-groomed, with soft words and a soft jawline and an extensive collection of some sort of liquor. Someone whose personality was as polished and smooth as soapstone.

Compared to that, Leorio was pumice. Coarse and sometimes irritating, sure to find your hardest parts and grind them down until you were soft and vulnerable.

“I don't want you to read poetry to me, your own words are enough,” Kurapika said. “And I don't expect any grand romantic gestures either, just so you know. I like how things are. Right now, I mean. I like how you pay attention to the little things. None of my exes ever cared about my favorite yarn, but you remembered.”

“Are you saying I should try to seduce you with my extensive yarn knowledge?”

“You don't need to try to seduce me with anything, you already have me. All I ever wanted from you was _you_.”

Leorio's silence fell awkwardly on Kurapika's neck. “Damn,” he whispered. “You're _easy_. Guess I have to scratch killing a dragon out of my plans now.”

“Especially considering they went extinct in the 17th century,” Kurapika remarked.

“But... you're an alchemist. You're a _magician_. I'm surprised I don't have to go through a trial of 3 magical and near impossible quests to earn the right to see you naked.”

“Actually...” Kurapika clicked his tongue. “Some people do enjoy a more dramatic courting. Did I ever tell you how my parents met?”

“No.” Leorio placed the lightest of kisses on Kurapika’s nape. “But I’d love to hear.”


	4. Rubedo

_My heart swells like a water at weight_   
_Can't stop myself before it's too late_   
_Hold on to your heart_   
_'Cause I'm coming to take you_

Florence & the Machine _, Hardest of Hearts_

 

**1**

 

The ceiling of the museum stretched high like a mausoleum, and what a mausoleum it was: time itself was buried here and all its courses had been neatly laid out along the walls of the corridor where the growth and thriving of alchemy was captured in stages. Time was alchemy, after all; the catalyst that transformed everything without being changed itself.

Kurapika was passing the corridor from the astral layer, taking large, weightless strides. He had yet to encounter a single soul. Not even spirits roamed here; they were put off and driven away by the hodgepodge of magic in the atmosphere of these halls.

He found the children in the corner of the next room he slipped into. They were like a flock of scared calves, mooing anxiously, stuck between a salve maker’s tools and a phoenix carved from red chalcedony. A man like an ogre acted as their shepherd; he loomed up thrice as high as them, stomping with thighs as thick as a child's head.

He made an effort to entertain them by belching up green flames. They only cried out louder.

A second man guarded the entrance of the room, this one less buff than his companion. He appeared to be a fresh-faced young fellow, but his smile was rehearsed and did not reach his eyes. Kurapika was glad to stay out of his arm's reach even though they were separated by a dimensional veil. He also noticed that both men had auras like quail eggs, gray and mottled with different colors, brown and white for the giant, gold and lavender for the smiling man.

But Kurapika had come for the children.

He counted their numbers, one two, three – he had not yet reached thirteen when he realized that the most important one was missing. But not just him; this herd was five calves and one teacher short. So Kurapika kept looking. He drifted past a small lady with speckles of pink, past a collection of gems and orreries, past a girl who wore small round shades as dark as the spots on her aura egg. Her glance seemed to follow him, but it must have been his imagination.

The next exhibition room was devoted to colors. It had posters of plants and snails, of seeds. One wall was nearly entirely covered by a giant blackboard. Still, some children had decided to draw on the laminate floor. The one that caught Kurapika's attention was a drawing of a simplistic eye with x-shaped lashes, crossed out by a diagonal line. Inside its center sat the missing child. The boy's mahogany skin was stained white where he rolled three pieces of chalk between his palms, restlessly.

Kurapika looked Cal in the eyes and was seen in return. If the boy was in any way startled by Kurapika’s astral shape, he didn’t let it show.

Kurapika lifted a finger to his lips. Cal nodded. He took a piece of chalk and painted a loudspeaker in the corner of the drawn eye, then crossed this one too. The symbol lit up with green fluorescence shortly, then went dull.

Kurapika found he could easily reach out for Cal's shoulder. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

Cal shook his head vehemently. “I hid here before they could find me.”

“Good,” Kurapika said. He had the vague notion that the chalk in Cal's hand was not the same that was offered near the blackboard – he had likely taken some from his mother's supply. In this case, it was all for the better. “Stay here as long as you can, I'll tell your father where to find you. Don't move unless he comes to pick you up.”

“What if I need to go to the bathroom?”

“Don't you have a bottle to pee in?”

The boy scrunched up his face. “But that's gross.”

Kurapika shrugged nonchalantly. Being gross or not would have been the least of his concerns at this very moment. “Yes, but it's a big, empty museum. They will hear you if you move. I'm sure you have figured this out already.”

Cal blinked. “You can't bring me home as you are, can you?” He had a rather monotone way of speaking, even for a boy his age, and still Kurapika could hear the hope in his voice. He would have taken him without hesitation if only he could.

“I'm afraid not. But everyone is already working on a plan to get you and the other kids out safely. Just... stay put. You trust me, don't you?”

“Yes.”

Sharp heels clicked on the floor, approaching, and Kurapika flinched away from the boy.

He fell into a crouch behind an exhibition case, ready to fight or flee. What if he _had_ been seen earlier? Of course, he would have caused much more of an uproar then, but it couldn't hurt to be careful.

The woman that stepped into the room was none of those whom he had already passed – raising the count of criminals to five, so far. She was tall, and built for seduction, slender limbs on an hourglass body. She wore a pantsuit, and underneath... nothing. No blouse, no bulletproof vest to cover her generous cleavage. It was the most foolish display of arrogance Kurapika had ever witnessed.

Like the girl he had encountered earlier, her eyes were half-hidden behind round black glasses, too small for the modern fashion taste. She had a recognizable nose. He would keep that in mind.

She scanned the room suspiciously from the entrance, alert. And took a few steps closer. Kurapika and Cal were both obscured from her view by a similar angle and similar means – he figured if (and only _if_ ) the woman was able to see him and he was able to see Cal, then she would have no problem detecting Cal too; they were either perfectly hidden or sitting ducks. And he could not let her find Cal.

He leaped out of his hiding spot and saw, as he ran past her in a generous arch, how her hands flew to her hip in one smooth motion. The second he realized it was a gun she was aiming at him, it had already gone off.

Pain hit him like a truck and threw him against the wall. His vision exploded in bright colors, the texture of the wallpaper imprinted itself in his skin. Immediately, the world was too loud and too heavy. He could not breathe. He could not scream.

The woman was upon him quickly, pressing her ulna against his windpipe, nearly crushing it. Warm metal kissed his forehead.

 

Cal screamed with protest.

He slipped his backpack off his shoulders and charged at the lady. Just as she turned her head in surprise, he swung it at her face with a heavy smack that knocked the glasses off her big nose. She gasped and tried to snatch him by his arm. Her fingers barely caught the sleeves of his jacket and he tore free.

Cal ran. He made a point to step on the glasses, and they broke under his feet with a satisfying crunch. He ran and ran, even when he realized the woman did not follow him. He heard her shriek like a harpy – was Kurapika fighting with her?

Cal ran without knowing where to go, where to hide. He slipped past two other women and through the legs of the giant man who had been attracted by the noise.

He ran into the girl's bathroom, hoping that this was where they would least likely search for him.

(He would be wrong.)

 

**2**

 

“What do you mean, 'he disappeared'?”

Leorio crouched behind one of the many police cars that were positioned around the entrances of the museum, weighed down by a bulletproof vest and a good deal of anxiety. The truth about hostage situations was that they were composed of moments where you were waiting for something to happen and praying that you did not fuck up whenever the things started happening 95 percent of the time. Right now there were no new developments and barely any facts about who or what they were dealing with, since the hostage-takers stayed away from the windows.

That didn't mean that Leorio was particularly happy about _these_ news.

It was no consolation that Melody was not happy about delivering them either. “His body disappeared. There was a pop and it was just gone, without a trace.”

“... and that's not a thing that can usually happen? Like, you're sure that it wasn't his doing?” He had to ask. Kurapika was infuriatingly good at disappearing and reappearing whenever it pleased him.

“Absolutely sure,” Melody confirmed.

Leorio cursed. He kept his head low as he sprinted back to the old van that the Order had supplied them with; he had to see for himself. Melody followed short, struggling to keep up with his pace.

“How?” he bellowed.

“I think someone summoned his body, which... would be impossible if he was whole at the time, but since he is not, all it takes is a strong tie to the body, like some of his blood or his hair, as long as it’s recent.”

“Well, he didn't lose any of that recently!”

Leorio pulled open the back doors of the van. No sleeping beauty lay in the center of the floor's circle. There was only a young woman sitting by it, the one that had been declared Kurapika's chaperon because she was the only member of a distant temple who had been unfortunate enough to visit _Kurapika's_ temple when the hostage situation happened. In retrospect, if teleportation was that common of a practice for alchemists, the Order might have sent someone at least old enough to drink, especially when they had to supervise someone as skilled as Kurapika. But teleportation _was_ possible. He had been briefed about the safety measures of the museum and teleportation shields had been on the list.

“I'm so sorry, I swear I didn't put my eyes off him, he just disappeared from one second to the next,” she blurted out, clutching to her notebook.

Leorio knew Amane for all of an hour but he could already tell that she was the kind of girl that was too hard on herself, who strove to be nothing short of impeccable. Her crisp and ironed blouse said so, which she wore buttoned up all the way and even her ponytail was pulled so taut that her scalp had to hurt. The only aspect of her appearance that hinted at some kind of humor was the green bowtie she wore to her collar. No one actually expected her to contribute to the tense and very delicate situation going on, and yet here she was, trying to apologize for something she had no fault in. Leorio was about to say so, when she added, “I think they used the channel.”

Well. No matter her age, her magical knowledge surpassed Leorio's by far. “Which channel? And who is _they_?”

“The people in the museum. Teleportation spells take so much time and effort to work, they build up their own kind of magnetic field while they get cast, due to the energy flux involved. And Kurapika-san disappeared without some kind of forcefield appearing. But there is the link between his body and his mind.”

“So... what? They just plucked him out of the spirit layer and his body followed? How the heck is that supposed to work?”

“A junk spell?” Amane suggested.

“That's possible,” Melody agreed. “Junk spells are spells specifically designed to interfere with other spells. They are unstable and collapse the second they get in contact with another spell, and when they fall apart, it causes quite a disturbance. But that would only have sent Kurapika back into his own body, unless...”

“You can't teleport out of the museum,” Leorio said. “But you can teleport _into_ it.”

“Yes,” Melody and Amane said at the same time.

“Shit.”

 

**3**

 

They hadn’t been meant to be there in the first place.

The Paracelsus museum was in an area of the city that didn’t belong to their police department. In addition to that, it was Sunday and Leorio had no urgent cases to work on since their investigation on the robbery of the jewelry store had run into a frustrating dead end. They should have spent the morning lazing around in Leorio’s bed, not bothering to make breakfast before ten and then curl up on the couch watching old cartoons while Kurapika knitted away until his hands got painfully cold and he sneaked them under Leorio's clothes to warm up again.

If it hadn't been for the fact that Captain Nana's son had been among the school class that was held hostage, the most difficult decision that Leorio would have had to face was what to cook for lunch.

 

It wasn't that he blamed the kid. Or his boss for pleading Kurapika to help.

But for the first time in years Leorio felt like destiny had no excuses to fuck him over anymore. This wasn't meant to happen.

 

**4**

 

By the time Leorio returned to the other policemen, they were abuzz like someone had come and rattled their hive. He wondered if his news had traveled faster than him – but they had even less reason to care about Kurapika than his own colleagues.

He couldn't find Captain Nana, and Captain Gigante, the man who was actually in charge of this operation, was too swarmed by his own men to pay attention to Leorio, so Leorio hauled the nearest officer by the collar and asked them what the hell had happened.

There had been negotiations to let some of the hostages go.

The hostage takers had offered to release half of the children – an offer that Captain Nana had not been satisfied with at all because even a fifty percent chance that his son would remain captured was fifty percent too much. He had suggested an exchange instead; he demanded that all children would be free to go if he offered himself as a hostage.

And they had actually come to an agreement on that.

Leorio's stomach tied up into an uneasy lump. The timing of this development was uncanny. Not only that, but why would they agree to release _all_ of the hostages? If the exchange went wrong, they were left with absolutely _zero_ hostages.

Well. Not exactly. They still had Kurapika. And they must have knocked him out or found a way to make him compliant because Kurapika would have fought them tooth and nail–

He never finished that thought because he finally spotted Captain Nana's face among the crowd.

 

His boss was troubled and withdrawn in ways that Leorio had never seen him before, an impression that was only enhanced by the bulletproof vest strapped around his chest. His shoulders eased up just the tiniest bit when he noticed Leorio.

“Detective. I was just about to look for you. Can you please keep an eye out for my son as soon as they release him? Just be careful, he doesn't like being touched by strangers. And please call my wife once he's safe. I haven’t had the heart to tell her about this yet.”

Leorio swallowed hard. He had met Chandni Nana exactly two times thus far, both times during visits of the temple when Kurapika had decided that he should engage more in the dreamseer community. She had struck him as a lively woman, very down-to-earth and fond of raunchy jokes and puns. They had exchanged phone numbers 'in case he ever felt like venting about how exhaustively stubborn Kurapika could be', but they weren't on such good terms already that he could bring her news as grave as those. He was shit at breaking bad news gently, and surely the captain had to know that. This became even clearer when he remembered what he had come back for.

“Sir, I think– we have reason to believe–” he pushed the words off his tongue as hastily as if they could hurt him. Kurapika would have teased him for that, all cocked eyebrows and cool demeanor. 'Do you expect me to stand here all day or are you going to pull yourself together?' he would have said. Right. Fuck doing things gently. “They have Kurapika.”

His boss showed no response at first. Just shrugged back into his coat and dug in his pocket, each motion carefully slow, almost graceful. When he spoke, it was just one word.

“How?”

So Leorio repeated what Melody and Amane had concluded, as best as he could. He didn't feel like he was doing a good job explaining what he himself barely understood, but his boss nodded grimly.

“It might not be a coincidence that they decide to let some of the hostages go right after he disappeared,” Leorio concluded. “Like, maybe he injured one of them and that's why they're trying to get rid of the hostages, because they're preparing to leave. It's easier to move just one or two people than a whole group of them.”

“Detective–”

“I mean, of course I don't have an idea what's actually going on, but I think the timing is hella fishy and I'm worried because, you know Kurapika, he wouldn't just let himself get caught, he would sass them and then kick their ass and sass them some more until–”

“Leorio!” Captain Nana tried again, harsher.

Leorio shut up, startled. “Sir,” he said, meekly. It was so weird to hear his first name out of his boss' mouth.

“I don't doubt that there is something dubious going on inside, but unless we know what it is for sure, there's nothing we can do about it. I will keep my eyes open and try to find Kurapika, so there's that, but I can't tell you how things look once I'm inside. You have to trust that everything will work out fine.”

The buzz among the policemen grew louder. Captain Gigante himself advanced towards them, and patted Captain Nana on the shoulder with one of his huge hands, announcing that they had detected activity by the front entrance. The exchange was going to happen and it was going to happen _now_.

“Can I–” Leorio began, but was interrupted before he could think of where he wanted to take the thought.

“I will take care of this and I will bring Kurapika back safe,” Captain Nana promised. He was in no position to promise _anything_ but there was a mountain-firm security in his words that made Leorio _want_ to believe. “Just look after my son.”

And with that, he pulled a photo out of his wallet, handed it to Leorio and disappeared in the crowd to get in position.

 

**5**

 

They met on top of the entrance's stairs.

One of the double doors opened just a crack, darkness pouring out from inside. Darkness and a pair of hands that patted Mizaistom down.

“He's clear,” a male voice, pleasant and far too relaxed, confirmed and just like that, the second door of the entrance was pushed open. Children spilled out like a flock of startled deer, some of them crying, some of them stone-faced, but none of them was earnest and familiar until–

Mizaistom had already taken the first step into uncertainty when Cal's teacher showed up in the rear, carrying the limp body of his boy in their arms.

 

**6**

 

Something was terribly wrong about the entire situation; he had thought it before and he was thinking it again.

Leorio could not pinpoint what exactly made his skin prickle with discomfort and evil foreboding because it didn't begin until he saw the kid up close. He spotted him right away, even without the help of the photograph (which depicted him looking stoically into the camera while his mother beamed, both dressed in clothes that used to be white but had been stained with pigments in every color imaginable) because he was like a ruby in a mass of pearls and amber and he had his father's nose. Also, he was very much passed out, which caught Leorio's attention immediately.

But as Leorio stumbled toward the young fellow who carried Cal Nana – a pale and willowy person who might have been man or woman or _fae_ for all their silver hair and amber eyes – he noticed that the boy was in a much better condition than feared. In fact, he seemed to be perfectly uninjured, not a scratch on his skin, not a hair out of place. He might have been sleeping. This should have been a reason for relief, but instead Leorio was overcome by a strange shudder, the kind he got when he had been holding in his pee for way too long.

When he offered to take the boy, he was refused. The person, presumably Cal's teacher was busy shooing three other kids onward that basically clung to their skirts and declared almost aggressively that they wouldn't let anyone but a medic touch him. Leorio tried to explain to them that he had explicit orders by one of the boy's parents, but they glared at him, coldly.

“Well, I'm sure his parents would prefer that he gets medical attention first.”

Leorio felt like he had been kicked. As he watched their disheveled figures shove their way through to the ambulance, he found it hard to look at them. His eyes grew unfocused. Blinking the blurriness away, he wondered if maybe they were right. It couldn't harm Cal to let the medics have a look at him.

Although he should probably inquire how the boy had gotten into this condition if he wanted to call his mother. She would want to know.

He noticed Melody standing by the van, waving wildly at him to catch his attention.

“Something is wrong,” she announced, as soon as he was in earshot.

It seemed that this day had not yet reached its full potential for disaster. Was it too much to ask from the hundreds of alchemists that lived in this town to provide them with a prophecy that they could use to get by? He knew that visions of the future were rare and abstract and probably only made sense in hindsight, but he was getting sick of unpleasant surprises.

“What's the matter?”

“Not everyone's emotions make sense. I can hear some calm and accomplished heartbeat among the anxious and stressed whirlwind of everyone else.”

“Maybe they're just really happy that almost all of the hostages were released?” Leorio asked tiredly and even as he spoke, he knew that this was bullshit. This situation was far from being over. “You think the hostage takers have people among the police, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me where it's coming from?”

“I'm not quite sure,” Melody admitted, wringing her hands. “It's a bit diffuse and hard to make out when there are so many people here.”

An engine roared up. Leorio turned his head just in time to see the first ambulance drive off. It was the very same one that the rude teacher had aimed towards. He could not make out their silver mop of hair in the crowd anymore, nor did he see any of the three other children that had been with them. But they couldn't have–

No teacher would leave more than half of their class behind. And the ambulance had driven off without blaring its sirens.

By the time that it took Leorio to hop into his car, they already had quite a head start.

He was so, so fucked.

 

**7**

 

“We want to thank you for your assistance.”

Mizaistom could not reply. He was trying to make sense of what he saw, trying to fit it into a grander picture. Right away he had been led into the checkroom of the museum by his two captors. Abandoned coats hung there limply, each one standing for a visitor that fled the building in panic and was now freezing out in the snow.

Some had been removed and laid out on the floor as makeshift blankets for the sleeping figures that lay there neatly lined up, tucked in under the heavy blanket of a spell.

Cal was among them. And Cal had been outside. So had his teacher. And three of his classmates, Mizaistom supposed.

The museum had a few security spells, such as the one that prevented teleporting out of it, and the one that suppressed any sort of illusion and shapeshifting. But these people... they had found a way to disrupt Kurapika's spell and catch him. Surely breaking the illusion spell would have been no hindrance for them, either. And then they must have smuggled out most of their group disguised as hostages.

“I'm surprised you left them alive,” Mizaistom said slowly. It took every ounce of his self restraint not to hurry to his son and touch his chubby cheeks, to promise him that everything would be alright. Even without being a clairvoyant, Mizaistom knew he would die – perhaps in an hour, perhaps sooner depending on the mood of the hostage-takers. He was not sad about it. He had nothing to fear from death, they were old friends by now. Still, he wished he could have said farewell to Cal, in case he was mistaken, in case his curse failed.

“Oh?” the younger one of the kidnappers teased. He seemed to be the one who did all the talking, while his buff and hairy friend focused on looming and growling threateningly. “Do we not seem like reasonable people? What good is a dead hostage?”

“You've been involved in the attack on the old temple eleven years ago, haven't you? I recognize your faces. You haven't been too kind to the people there.”

It was hard not to recognize them. The boy with the green eyes and the ash blond hair had looked so very similar to Kurapika's mother that Mizaistom had done some research on Kurapika's family tree, before he had found out that the murderers were not of human nature.

“Ah, but those were alchemists. You should be smart enough to know that they all have blood on their hands.”

He had never seen them in person before, had only studied their faces on security camera feed, so he couldn't know for sure, but... it didn't appear like time had claimed a lot of these men, despite time being a cruel and demanding mistress. There was a general consensus among alchemist theory that a homunculus would age faster than a human: due to its unnatural and forced state of existence it was assumed to be less stable than a natural life form. Of course, since the creation of a homunculus was forbidden work, few survived their first five years. They were sought and caught and disassembled.

“What do you _want_?” Mizaistom hissed.

“Nothing we haven't been given already,” the young man said with an unnerving, cold grin.

“The children?” Mizaistom asked, but he knew that wasn't the reason. They had nothing to do with this.

“The bastard who killed our boss ten years ago. You were so kind to bring him right to us. We didn't even have to ask for it.”

Kurapika. They were talking about _Kurapika_. He didn't get accidentally into their focus, he had flung himself right into it.

Mizaistom closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

Kurapika always acted on his own whims, stubborn as a mule, angry like a wounded rat and reckless like only humans could be. He used to be even worse back then, when he was torn up by one loss after the other. He had disregarded the law, he had disregarded the work ethics of the Order of Alchemists, just so he could pay back a little of the pain he had to endure to the monsters that had taken everything he loved. He had been just a kid, trying to fight back. How could anyone have asked him to spare some forgiveness for the murderers of his family?

Mizaistom had seen Pairo in his last days, had seen what the curse had done to his body – how it had eaten him away, how his limbs had grown twiggy and crooked, how his skin had burst up and bled. Pairo had been the only survivor of the massacre, the only _eyewitness_. The only family Kurapika still had left.

Mizaistom had no sympathy for a man who went through the world killing innocent children with the _dead man walking_ curse. He was only sorry for Kurapika, to have to bear the burden of taking someone's life so young. Ironically, Kurapika had committed a greater crime by extracting Pairo's mind out of his dying body and trying to plant it into a different one than by killing a homunculus. He hadn't used a spell that could kill a human, after all. And because he knew he was not going to get in trouble, he had confessed every detail. How he had sent a disassembling spell into Pairo, using the connection that the curse had created between Pairo's body and the person who had cast it. And as far as the worth of living beings in front of the law went, homunculi were considered possessions, ranked lower even than pets.

“You have quite the nerve, trying to punish a boy for taking revenge after you took everything from him. Or do you honestly go through life thinking it will have no consequences if you kill people?”

The giant man chuckled; it was a sound like stones rolling down a mountain. “The peacocks try to kill us everyday and no one bats an eye at it. They made us and then they called us a failure and they called us unnatural. They started hunting us and what consequences did they face, hm? So we showed them what it's like to be hunted.”

He knew that it was a waste of time trying to appeal to the morals of these... people, as far as the term applied. It wasn't like he was really trying; he was buying time until he figured out what to do. They had taken Kurapika – in all likelihood it was _his_ unconscious body they had smuggled out disguised as Cal. If they had only meant to kill him, they could have done that right away. Which meant that there was a chance of finding and rescuing him.

A telephone buzzed, absurdly loud. It gave Mizaistom quite the start.

“They arrived at the second checkpoint,” the smiling man said. “Guess that means we can start the party, Uvo.”

Uvo (or Uovo? As in 'egg'?) cracked his knuckles, delightedly. “Looks like our time spent chatting is over, old man.”

Mizaistom decided to plead for his life. He didn't need to, but it felt like the proper thing to do. “If you kill me,” he threatened, “the police will be out for you. They will make this personal.”

The homunculi did not waver in their decision, they weren't even slightly impressed. If anything, they appeared even more cheerful.

“Life wouldn't be fun without a little challenge, now would it?”

 

Mizaistom didn't give them the satisfaction of resisting when Uvo grabbed his head and smashed it open on a coat hanger.

 

Death embraced Mizaistom tightly as his blood seeped out on the floor, quite like a lover who was pining for their reunion.

Lady Death was a possessive mistress. Once she put her hands on you, she refused to let you go. But not even death could hold Mizaistom.

There is a moment in death when you are still you, are still one being, mind and body and soul. It's the soul that wants to keep you whole, it's the soul that binds you together. But when the body dies, the soul comes slowly loose.

When Mizaistom Nana's body died, the curse that lay sleeping in his cells woke up. Curses are never kind, not even those who preserve – this one was worked crudely and desperately and demanding into Mizaistom. It put him back together forcefully, draining magic from the alchemist who worked it. Bones fell back in place like puzzle pieces and welded together, tissue and skin grew, blood was produced fresh in his marrow.

But death was the absence of life and life, once lost, could not be created anew. It had to be stolen. Death had to be offered her fair share.

 

In a distant parking house, Kurapika stirred in his forced slumber as pain laced the scars in his thigh. To the naked eye, he appeared a six year old boy, to prying hands he would feel like a six year old boy, but he was still himself underneath the Matryoshka shell of the illusion. His aches were still his own.

He had been moved from the ambulance into a dull white transporter that would draw significantly less attention. He had been wrapped up in old, strange smelling blankets like a burrito and laid out in the back seat, fastened securely with the seat belts.

A hat had been pulled deep over his eyes, easier to hide his borrowed face and to block his view. His captors had already taken up their proper appearances again, and the fewer of them he could recognize, the better for them.

Of course, if all went according to plan, it did not matter whose face he would remember; he was not meant to leave their hideout unchanged.

 

There are no prayers for the homunculi, no god to turn to, and no heaven or hell would welcome them.

Human existence can be dissected into a trinity: body, soul, and mind. The alchemists, ever so fond of renaming a familiar thing and pretending that they invented it, called this the _Tria Principia_ . They spoke of _sal_ , _sulfur_ , and _mercurius_.

A homunculus is an answer to the question _'If human life can be divided into three parts, will the union of these three parts create human life?'_

Sal: Take a body. Any body. Or take parts and stitch them together nice and firmly.

Sulfur: Steal a soul of a dying person.

Mercurius: Search the astral layer for those who have been lost in there long enough to wash clean of their names and memories, but who are too driven by a will to live to fade.

A homunculus is, without doubt, alive, but their creators decided that there was nothing human about them. And they turned their backs on them. And so alchemy's children are left with nothing: no rights, no purpose, no person to call a parent. No growth. No future but an early death.

From Shalnark's perspective, survival was a matter of being the least fragile. Killing was not a moral issue for him; it was more like a test of his own endurance, and so far he had always come out of it triumphant. He liked to blame this on two facts: first, he got a little bit more _mercurius_ in the mix compared to the others. Second, humans hesitated. They didn't kill unless you gave them a reason to, which was a horrible tactic for killing.

He hummed a cheerful tune as he loaded his gun in the museum's entrance hall. The sound echoed through the high ceiling.

“Ready to die, Uvo?”

It was an old joke among them. Uvogin, unlike others, got a kick out of being alive. He had been shaped from a strange mold; if you looked at him, you immediately wondered if his creator had tried to figure out how big a heap of body mass could still be animated by a single mind and soul. He had more _sal_ than common sense most of the time, and he dove into every fight laughing. You might too, if your flesh healed quicker than people could shoot bullets in you.

But for the first time in thirty years, Shalnark received no reply.

“Don't tell me you're actually _afraid,_ ” he teased and turned around.

Uvogin was bleeding out of his nose. And no one was more puzzled by this fact than he himself. He kept on dabbing at the spot and staring at his fingertips, mouthing 'what the fuck' silently.

“How did that happen?”, Shalnark demanded to know.

Uvogin shrugged his massive shoulders. “Beats me. It just started.”

“Your timing is horrible,” Shalnark fussed and he felt a strange and near foreign emotion take root in his chest. Something that was almost concern, except it was utterly unselfish. And he was no more built for unselfishness than Uvogin was for tranquility.

“Eh. Guess I'm just getting sick,” Uvogin growled.

Their kind didn't get sick. And he hadn't taken a beating that would explain this, obviously, but in their current situation they could not afford to sit down and marvel about oddities like this. They had a bloodbath of a different kind to make.

“Well, I'm sure it will make you look even more intimidating. Or do you want me to call Machi?”

“Don't be absurd,” Uvogin said gruffly. The blood flowed steadier now, ran over his mouth and chin, dripping to the floor. “This is nothing.”

He took a step forward.

And came undone. Color left his cheeks, his feet crumbled under his weight. And he fell. And shattered right in front of Shalnark's eyes to a heap of sand and ash and blood.

Shalnark leaped back.

This wasn't meant to happen. This wasn't how they were meant to die: quietly, unprovoked, without anyone to witness.

Shalnark heard someone approach and he drew his gun, ready to intimidate but not shoot. If he shot, it would only be an invitation for the humans outside to come creeping in. If he shot, it meant he had lost control over the situation.

Staggering into his line of sight came the police captain they had killed. He was half covered in his own blood, but his skull was remarkably intact and the intent in his eyes revealed that dying had not left a lasting damage on his brain.

“Kill me,” he said, “And you will share your friend's fate.”

“You could have told us you're one of us.” Shalnark put up a smile. It was so easy for him to do. Smiles meant nothing after all. They were just a clever trick to lull your conversation partner.

“I'm not one of you. You're disgusting. And I'm not saying this because of what you're made of, but because of the choices you made. You–”

“Are you done now? I hope you didn't rise from the dead just to give me a lesson,” Shalnark interrupted. Because that had to be the most boring motivation in the history of motivations. If he had at least come for revenge, that would change the game. Revenge always put a twist on things, provided a little extra thrill. But the human appeared too rational and collected. How _boring_.

“I am here to give you a chance to redeem yourself.”

Righteousness was even worse.

“Tell me where you brought the dreamseer and I will make sure you can keep your life,” the human said, presenting a threat that was dressed up nicely as an offer.

“You can make no such promises.”

“I would even go as far as insisting that you're human if the Order wants to get a hold of you, given that you will not use whatever kind of magic you have for the entire length of the prison sentence you will face.”

“You're really bad at making this seem attractive. Besides, what can you do if I refuse to tell you? I'm the one with the gun.”

“I'm the one that cannot be killed, so your gun is useless.” The human (who, in Shalnark’s opinion should rather be branded ‘not so human after all’) cocked his head and held out his palms in a gesture that was meant to be inviting, almost fatherly. “Now, I'm asking you _again_. Where have you taken the dreamseer? What do you want from him?”

Shalnark smiled harder. He really wasn't in the mood to play, there were no risks to this game and no risks meant no fun. Besides, the police captain would lose, no matter what choice he made. If Shalnark shot him, he would either die or – if one were to believe his absurd threat – he would live and Shalnark would die. Or would they both die? Either scenario ended with the captain not getting the information he wanted.

The homunculus was kind of curious which one would happen, though.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Shalnark said.

He shot.

 

**8**

 

“Dreamseeing requires a lot of preparation, both physical and mental. It takes months of meditation and autogenous training to enter the trance state and then ascend from it safely,” Chandni explained. Her calm was hard fought for with snarling self restraint, but the way she kept shifting her feet under the table, each motion announced with a chime of her anklets, revealed that she would have rather sprung into action. “The mind isn't exactly meant to just wander off and frolic through the astral layer, you know. And getting up in there is just the easy part. Even if we assume that you're a natural at this, moving in someone else's dream is a completely different kind of experience. I mean, you have to take my words with a grain of salt because I study spirit migration so being in the layer is all I know, but trust me, you wouldn't be the first one to get lost in someone else's dream. If you can enter Kurapika's dreams at all. The people who took him know what he is, I doubt they'll let him have a nice and long nap, unless they have an interest in invading his mind himself. And even then, Kurapika has ways of shielding his mind against any sort of intrusion.”

Leorio nodded, although he barely listened. He didn't need to, he had heard most of this before, out of Kurapika's mouth, except now it had this unpleasant implication of 'you will not find him, no matter how hard you try.'

It was all so surreal. Sitting in the lush winter garden of Captain Nana's spacious house while chatting with his boss' beautiful wife over a cup of chai with almond milk. He too ached to _do_ something, to go out and keep on looking for the merest hint.

He had pursued the fleeing ambulance as well as he could, had followed it into the parking deck of a shopping center... where it had been left behind, empty. The hostage takers must have changed vehicles there.

Leorio told himself that even at the department, he would have to wait until the ambulance had been checked for evidence, until the video tapes of the parking deck had been properly analyzed, until someone had found out where the criminals had gotten their hands on an ambulance car in the first place. He felt like none of this was really getting them anywhere. Especially after Captain Nana had hinted that it was highly unlikely they would find out the identity of these people.

He hadn't elaborated on that. In fact, he had barely spoken to anyone ever since he had walked out of the museum drenched in blood without even so much as a scratch, bearing both his son and the news that Kurapika had been brought out of the building right before he entered. He hadn't even had a chance to bring him back home. And the two of the hostage takers that had not fled the scene had taken their own lives, so there was no one to interrogate. Instead of answers, they found more questions.

When the captain had insisted to go home and had asked them – Leorio, Melody, Amane – to join him, Leorio had had the smallest hope that they could be useful in other ways than the investigative one. Who summoned three (or four, if you included Chandni) alchemists under their roof and then just ask them to sit still?

But right away the captain had disappeared to take a shower, and the unity of their group had just crumbled after that. Amane was the first one to reclaim some of her privacy. She retreated to the kitchen, trying to jot down an eyewitness report in case it was needed later. Melody had been set to the task of waking Cal up as gently as possible. If Leorio listened closely, he could make out the song of her flute. It was a lively tune, the kind that made your heart beat quicker, the kind that filled you with zest for action until you felt like bursting – Leorio forced himself to focus back on the conversation he meant to have.

“So, if we can't reach out to him, what about that bird spell? If we send him a bird, he knows we're looking for him and he can send it right back.”

“I don't think they will put him in a room with windows, my boy. They will want to isolate him, and keep him under artificial light – or no light at all – to disturb his natural sleeping pattern. So we don't really have time to waste because that kind of treatment wears people down way too quick, but unless we find at least an ounce of his blood, there is no seeking spell strong enough to locate him.”

“I see.” The words felt like a lump in his throat. “I don't suppose he used to donate blood exactly for that reason?”

“You will find _no_ alchemist willing to donate their blood _exactly_ for that reason.”

“Of course,” Leorio said, gruff and disgruntled and disillusioned. He pressed his palms against his temples as if physically putting pressure on his brain could make him think better, faster.

“There might be a way to communicate with him,” Captain Nana announced as he joined them, in cleaner clothes and with his wet hair shimmering like ink. He looked even younger now without his suit. (You wouldn't have guessed he was forty-five, even if his birth certificate waved right in front of your nose. He appeared to be not older than in his early thirties; no deep wrinkles etched into his skin for all the responsibility that he shouldered, and not a single hint of gray kissed his temples.)

Leorio felt like he was seeing something he was not meant to see. Work was the only home he had ever pictured the captain in because he rarely let slip that he had a life that did not revolve around the police. And certainly no one would have guessed that he belonged in a place like this, in a house that had magic written all over it. And not the gimmicky or showy kind you could find in movies with talking cats and singing kettles, with obscure poisons lined up on the kitchen shelf right over a bubbling pot. No, this one was crisp and clear and ever present – it was in the way the camelias showed off their delicate flowers, thriving even in the cold winter sun, it was in the glint of the tap that told you that the water here would taste better, richer. It was solemn, quiet magic. It felt _safe_.

“How?” Leorio moved his chair so there was more room at the small round table for a third person to join. Captain Nana took a seat. He brought a cloud of citrus scents and a matching sour mood into the round. “It's an unusual procedure, but it works regardless if Kurapika is asleep or not. And it doesn't come with many requirements, all you need is a channel. Something or someone that is deeply connected to him.”

“What exactly means 'deeply connected'?” Leorio wondered if he himself qualified, but he and Kurapika had only just started building up something together.

“If you're planning what I think you're planning, then Pairo would be a good pick,” Chandni offered. “He and Kurapika were related by blood, they grew up together and at the same time the way he is now is Kurapika's work. So we have a physical, emotional, and magical bond.”

“... which Pairo are we talking about exactly? Because the only Pairo I know is his – oh. _Oh_.” Well, that explained why Kurapika was so fussy about not letting the cat in the bedroom. Or the bathroom. Why he talked to Pairo like he was an adult, sometimes slipping into a completely different language entirely.

“What did that poor fool do that Kurapika turned him into a cat?”

“Threatened to die,” the captain said quietly, his voice rough and tired; it crept right under Leorio's skin. “But we can't tell for sure how much of Pairo is still Pairo. The whole ordeal is already risky enough without adding more uncertainty. I'd say I'll do it. I'll be the channel.”

“Mizai,” Chandni said, sucking air through her teeth. “You do remember what they're saying about secrets and how best to keep them?”

“It works better with a memory to follow. And it's not like Detective Paladiknight will rat out Kurapika once he knows.”

Leorio rubbed his temples. Rat what out? To whom?

Chandni drummed her fingers on the table with an air of finality. She opened her mouth to say something when hysterical screaming filled the air.

The Nanas rose from their seat in this rushed synchronized motion that only parents had down to a tee – they looked at one another, frozen in a crouched balance of not quite sitting, not quite standing.

“Do _you_ want to–?” Chandni asked.

He wanted to. God, how he wanted to, Leorio could see the desperate glint in his boss' eyes... but he swallowed it. “No, it's fine. He responds better to you when he's upset.” He sat back slowly and his wife planted a quick kiss on the top of his head. “I'll send him right to you once he has calmed down.” And then she was gone, chime-chime-chiming with every fleet-footed step.

The captain waited, and listened until his son's wails subsided. Only then he turned back to Leorio. “I need you to be honest about your abilities.”

“Okay.”

“Because you have this habit of bragging about unimportant things and selling yourself short when it matters.”

Leorio wanted to disagree, but Captain Nana interrupted him before he could do so much as open his mouth. “I know you have gone successfully through a joint session with Kurapika in the Villeneuve case, but have you received any training on how to ascend on your own?”

“I did. That's what I told your wife too, but she thought it wouldn't count for much.”

“Well, she's right. Which is why my question is: _can_ you do it on your own? Because if not... I'm sure Chandni would lead you through the session in a heartbeat, but I'd hate to involve her even more.”

“I can do it. I'm sure I can – I went up into the astral layer a few times, but it will take a few tries. I've never been too far from my body, but Kurapika made me a provisional tattoo, as a safety measure. With henna, I think. It shouldn't have faded yet. Sir... this option you're suggesting, it's not legal, is it?”

Captain Nana pressed his fingertips together, shaping a little roof with his hands. “It's not so much the action itself that is illegal. Sure, chances are that you end up possessing Kurapika if he's awake when you enter his mind, which he'll likely be. But what is the Order supposed to do? You aren't a full member yet, and you don't depend on their service. Whatever punishment they might come up with can't hurt you much. But you need to understand – what connects Kurapika and me is a curse. As long as he lives, I cannot die, I cannot age. And if you care about Kurapika, you better lie your ass off if the Order asks about this particular detail. But that should be the least of our worries now.”

Leorio ran his tongue over his teeth. What did he care about the details, or past crimes when Kurapika might be somewhere out there, suffering? “Sir, I just want to get him back. Tell me what you want me to do and I will do it, no questions asked.”

“You need to get into my head. My memories will act as a guideline to find the channel to Kurapika. Once you have found him – and this is the important part – don't step out of his body. Under no circumstances can you get out into the astral layer or roam the place. The people who took Kurapika are homunculi – you know what a homunculus is?”

“Yeah, they're... artificial magicians? Kurapika mentioned them when he told me about the attack in which his parents died.”

“So you know they're not too fond of alchemists. And the fact that they were able to get ahold of Kurapika means they have at least one in their midst who can see into the astral layer. So, just go in, talk to him, and hope that he has an idea of where they brought him. Stay with him for as long as you can. We need every bit of information he can give us; his kidnappers appearances and abilities, that kind of stuff. And then you come back and we'll figure out a way how to go against them.”

“You want me to come back and _leave him behind_?”

“That's the plan, yes. All of this information is no use when you don't share it. Everything depends on this. I expected that this part will be the hardest for you, but no matter what condition he is in, you must come back to me.”

“You gotta be joking. What the fuck do you mean, no matter what condition he's in? What condition do you expect him to be in?”

“You asked for a way to communicate with him, and this is my option. It is the only option I see. If you'd rather not go through with it, I will not blame you.”

Leorio would have liked to put a curse on his boss too, for presenting him with a choice that they both knew too well was not an option. He would do it. The uncertainty would kill him if he didn't. Still.

“I have a suggestion to make.”

 

**9**

 

The pain behind his eyelids had become a constant presence, too heavy and blinding to chase it away by pressing his eyes shut, although this was a small matter compared to the angry hot pulse sitting where his pinky used to be. Which did not mean that one hurt could overshadow the other – they each screamed for his attention and tore at his thoughts.

He tried to tune everything out. But darkness had no comfort to offer and sleep brought no rest. His keepers checked on him regularly; whenever he tried to nod off, they would shake him rudely awake. Disembodied footsteps, disembodied hands – dimensions and shapes lost all meaning down here, down in the catacombs of the abandoned moonshine hotel. Time, too, had warped into something unrecognizable.

If only his hands had been free.

Kurapika could knit with only his fingers, could knit with his arms, could knit with his eyes closed. But not when his wrists were shackled to the walls by chains solid enough to hold a frenzied werewolf. He could have tried to worry and gnaw open a seam of his sweater regardless, but disoriented and drained, his options were limited. And for once it appeared that he was all out of spells. The demons of Need and Want sat on his shoulders and defined his every thought.

Home. Safety. Rest.

To be cared for by a friendly soul, any friendly soul.

He'd been in a similar situation, years ago, but his directive then had been more clear. The memory kept coming back to him, no matter how much he tried to shove it away. There had been the thick, claustrophobic air of the crypt pressing down in him, the stench of oil burning in trenches. Panic raging inside of him, roaring up, and scratching him raw with every pained moan that Mizaistom let out.

Mizai... Mizai had been dying.

 

Captain Nana was dying.

Black on black, blood pooled from his body through a wound in his stomach onto the stone floor of a dark mausoleum hall. He looked like he had been sacrificed; all around him, a huge alchemical ring had been drawn with his own blood. It looked a bit like a Stargate with the segments that it had been divided in. Instead of constellations, they were filled with element symbols, planetary symbols and Hebrew characters.

Leorio couldn't make all of them out. In some places, it was like he had a blind spot on his eye, except the spot was actually fixed in the world and not due to his vision at all. Perhaps that was what it meant to move in a memory instead of a dream: some parts would always be smudged or missing where the details have long been forgotten.

“Don't focus on me,” the Captain coughed out, with some urgency. “Listen.”

He listened.

Someone was crying.

Leorio recognized the broken gasps, he was familiar with the irregular shaky breathing in between. In happier times, he would have been the cause of them. In happier times, they would have traveled right from Kurapika's mouth into his. The source of the noise was somewhere behind him, in the part of the room that was cloaked in shadows. There had to be the only way to go. Except it was not a _way_ , not really.

“Go.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Leorio hissed, almost afraid to startle and silence the source of the crying.

“Just move on. Think of what you're looking for. You will find the way if you just want it enough.”

Leorio rushed forward into the darkness. It swallowed him softly and slipped over his skin, smooth like satin. He lost any sense of dimension and the crying seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Leorio began to understand that it really didn't matter where he tried to go because there was no _where_ in this place. No back and no forward. So he tried to cling to his own memories of Kurapika. How he had looked this morning with the cold winter sun glinting in his soft and frizzy poof of bed hair, how he had wrinkled his nose in disgust at the prospect of getting up, how he had kicked free of his pajama pants and rubbed his legs together like a cricket, sending out the sound of his skin brushing like a mating call, an invitation to touch. An invitation that Leorio could not have resisted.

He remembered most clearly reaching out to smooth his thumb over the faded broad scars and how the desire to kiss every inch of them had swollen up inside him like a tidal wave, reaching its peak and then breaking, spilling from his body in a flood of praise and kisses.

Wanting Kurapika was easy.

A sepia light lit up in the distance. It grew into an oval, into the beginning of a scene like an old-fashioned movie being projected. He could make out details at first: a stained Swiss army knife, a sliced up pant leg. Dark blood trickled from fresh cuts in a familiar thigh. Kurapika – a much younger Kurapika – scooped it up with his fingertips and smeared it all over a thread of yarn. The excess trickled over his skin in thin rivulets.

His cheeks were stained with tears and blood and tears again. He picked up his knitting, he cast on his spell. The clicking of the needles and the squeaking of wet wool was like an incantation, a slippery song of despair.

Leorio stumbled into the scene and knocked the dirty work out of Kurapika's hands before he wrapped himself about the small, scared shape of the Kurapika who used to be. He babbled assurances quicker than he could think them through – _I've got you, it's okay, everything's gonna be okay, I'm here now, I got you, I love you –_ trembling with relief.

When he pulled back to look Kurapika in the eye, the smears on his face had disappeared and he stared back, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

The room changed and shifted, sepia tones paled into gray, walls drew in on them to shape a cell without doors. The floor turned soft and cushioned, like a mattress. Heaps of filling puffed out of large tears in the fabric like pale mushrooms. Leorio found it hard to make out details as his perception grew blurry around the edges, as this view lacked depth and contrast. If this was a projection of the room Kurapika was in right now, it would be not much help.

Leorio flinched back as thick chains wound around Kurapika's arms and hands like black snakes, manacles biting hard down on his wrists.

“How did you find me?” Kurapika whispered, undisturbed by his surroundings. “You're not supposed to be here.”

“Does it matter? I'm taking you home.”

It had been the wrong answer. Kurapika's expression closed up, he shrank away from Leorio's touch.

“Kurapika,” he tried again, tired out, “I don't have the time to explain it in detail, you just have to believe me.”

“How did we first meet?”

Kurapika choose not to believe, then.

“Kurapika, it's really me.”

“Answer the question, Leorio,” Kurapika pressed.

“You had just moved in next door a few days ago, and you came knocking to ask me if I had seen Pairo because he ran off. You wore grass green nail polish that day and a floral shirt with suspenders and black pants and you had tried to pin up your hair although it was already so short to begin with. But you still looked cute. You always looked so damn good.”

His shoulders relaxed a little. “You remember the nail polish?”

“I remember everything because you looked so much like a gay hipster boy and I mean that in the most admiring sense, sweetheart.”

“Don't _sweetheart_ me,” Kurapika said surly.

“Sure. Whatever you want. But, please. _Please_. I need you to come with me. The captain– _Mizaistom_ helped me find you by letting me into his memories but we only have so much time.”

“You followed the trail of the curse I put on him,” he concluded, his tongue uncharacteristically sluggish. “I see. But even if you take me back, my body will stay behind. And _they_ have ways of pulling me back.”

“Even more reason to hurry. Come on. He will explain the rest to you.”

Still, Kurapika hesitated. And Leorio started to worry that he could sense that something was not the way it should be. Leorio had been careful not to lie, and he bit his tongue out of fear to let something slip. Kurapika would not like the plan. He would not like it at all. It was best not to let him think about it too much. Leorio grabbed Kurapika by the hands and _pulled_.

He thought of home.

He thought of the impossibly neat black marble kitchen counter in the Nana's beautiful house, he thought of little Cal's black pleading eyes, when he felt something like a draft. Leorio focused on that feeling.

Kurapika's eyes glowed up scarlet. His skin flaked and peeled off like old paint as he dissociated, revealing the shape of his mind underneath, charcoal and luminescent blue.

“Hurry,” Leorio said when what he meant was _I'm sorry_.

 

Kurapika could feel Leorio's attempts to push him forward; he was too tired to resist.

And once he had surpassed the ties to his own body, it was easy to snoop out and latch onto the connection between himself and Mizai. Leorio gave him one final shove and then all that was left was to drift, to become one with the flow – it wasn't until the flow became a pull that he realized that it should have felt different, that it should have required more effort, more stumbling around in the dark with only a vague light to follow.

Kurapika tumbled and fell back into gravity, a meteor hitting the surface of the moon.

He opened his eyes. The world spun its drunken dance and gave his stomach nauseous tugs, so he pressed them shut again. But the usual sensory shock didn't kick in since he had been whole not a few seconds ago; this was a small thing to be grateful for.

He groaned. His voice didn't even remotely sound like Mizaistom's. Why did he not sound like Mizai?

If he had expected an answer, he received none. He was all alone in his head.

Kurapika sat up, alarmed.

The first thing his eyes fell upon was the two large circles that were drawn around his body. The outer one a traditional frame used for dreamseeing sessions, calling upon the elements, four mason jars arranged within its course, like a compass. Glasses filled with sand, water, a candle, a feather. The inner circle looked strangely familiar; underneath Kurapika's too-long legs stretched the seal of Solomon within a clock dial of symbols. The constellation of Aries. A moon sickle. A peacock feather. An open eye, the sign of the seer. Those were _his_ symbols, a larger copy of the tattoo he had on his back.

He had been anchored in this body on purpose.

Kurapika breathed in and was immediately overwhelmed by the cloud of Leorio's cologne.

“No,” he said. The tiny spark of fear in the back of his mind caught and spread like wildfire. The body and the brain he had been bound to were wired for anxiety.

“Kurapika?” Melody called out for him, unsure. Mizaistom was sitting next to her on the floor at some distance, Cal in his lap, Chandni to his other side. They were all watching him. Expectantly. Wary. Kurapika couldn't bear to look at them. Instead he stared at his hands, large and calloused. He knew the lines on this palm like his own. He had held them, kissed them, guided them over his body. His heartbeat started to race. Tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn't help it, Leorio's body was just too quick to cry.

“What have you done?” he choked out.

 

**10**

 

Kurapika's body, for all its skill and dexterity, was not fit to hold Leorio.

The mind, in its essence, was a soft and expandable thing; like the tentacles of an octopus, it would slip in through the tiniest opening and stretch out all through the nervous system. There was no lack of space in between the molecules of a body. But it was also the mind which was the source of magic. For was it not the part closest to the universe, the only part of the human trinity with the ability to ascend? (Because souls, as upsetting as this may be to some, _dispersed_ when a human died. No one knew their proper function, but it was assumed they were the glue that held the mind and the body together.)

The simple truth of alchemy was this: divinity could only be found in duality. The mind may hold and produce magic but it was the _body_ who worked it.

Leorio's body could not and would never be able to translate his magic into a spell. This was because he was born with the ability to contain himself: while the average alchemist could be compared to a terracotta pot, with cracks and pores allowing the magical potential to seep through and make it usable for spells, Leorio's body was a vessel of steel. A vessel with valves who would open and release some of his magic whenever he touched something or someone who could drink it in, raising their magic potential tenfold. And because he was unable to release and draw from his own potential in a natural manner, no one could catch a glimpse of its true dimensions.

Was it a shallow puddle or a deep well?

The answer was neither.

The answer was that there was no match for the potential Leorio could withhold.

And when Leorio tumbled into Kurapika, whose body was weak and drained, starving for some energy, he felt for the first time the _flow_ of it all. He could feel himself filling every valley and crack, sweeping away the aches of exhaustion. He could not see – all was dark around him – but Kurapika's right pinky was aflame with pain and covered in something sticky, coppery-smelling. An unpleasant prickling went through it as even this healed up. Leorio touched the spot and found it a digit short, a clean stump, sensitive to the touch.

He swept into this body until he was full, brimming, _whole_. But even after that, his magic just kept on coming.

Pooling in his small palms, spilling from his fingers.

It would have been a proper time to panic, to fear that if he couldn't hold the magic in, it would all run off and leave him dry... but there was just _so much_ of it. And his thoughts were overwhelmingly clear and focused, they did not trail and branch out into unwanted territory, they did not spiral into a whirlwind of worries until he was too paralyzed to move. Kurapika's brain was made for complexity, for solving problems rationally.

And he had a well of power right at his fingertips.

Now he only needed to figure out how to use it.

 

“You need to send me back. Right away.”

Kurapika wiped over his cheeks first, then over the floor, erasing the inner circle. Smudging his zodiac sign, the star he was born under, all the precious data and achievements he had chosen to represent himself with and that his friends had chosen to betray him with.

He told himself it was not too late yet, the simple circle that he had designed for Leorio would be quickly drawn if only he could get Leorio's hands to obey him. He felt drunk and maybe he _was_. Reaching the right stage of tipsiness assured a smoother ascension, but it was also highly frowned upon.

“I need some chalk,” he said, his voice trembling as bad as his hands. “Don't just look at me, help me.” He sat back on his heels, rubbing his hands clean on his thighs, digging his nails into the fabric. In his blood sang a dangerous cocktail of frustration, anger and denial. He wanted to scream and shake his friends into action. He wanted to burn up and burn out and there was the next thing that was irritating him: he couldn't draw upon his magic. He felt dull, stripped of something that was essentially part of who he was. He was powerless, in every which way.

“Don't go,” Cal whispered. His face was even blanker than usual, his eyes wide and blacker than calligraphy ink. He half jumped to his feet and latched himself around Kurapika's neck. “Please don't go.”

Kurapika hugged back almost mechanically. The boy was cold and smelled like ether; a sign that he had been under a sleep spell recently. This knowledge did nothing to quench the anger inside him. He forced himself to sound calm, at least. “I have to, Cal. Don't worry about me, now that I know that you're alright, I will go back gladly. I can't let Leorio get hurt in my stead.”

Cal gasped. “They were hurting you?”

Kurapika didn't answer the question. He was in no mood to play the situation down but it would upset everyone if he told the truth. Instead, he looked Mizaistom right in the eye, who saw it as permission to speak up rather than a sign that Kurapika wanted to hurt him. “Even if you go back, do you think you can convince him to return and leave you there? It was his idea to switch places.” He was calm as ever. And part of Kurapika hated him for it.

“And you _let_ him? Despite not knowing what would wait for him there, despite the fact that he doesn't know a single spell to defend himself with?” He held onto Cal tighter. The boy was so tiny in his arms, but maybe that was just because Leorio loomed up so high.

“Kurapika, please calm down,” Melody tried to reason with him. “The decision was not easy, but he considered this option the safest one for you, and you know how stubborn he can be. He trusts us and he trusts _you_ to find him, don't waste the opportunity he's given you. If we fail to find him, you can always try to switch back once you gathered some strength.”

Kurapika took one glance at the kitchen clock and realized that he only must have spent eight or nine hours locked up. It still felt like an eternity when you were in pain. And his body would get painfully hungry soon. But even an empty stomach was easier to handle than a full bladder. His captors had given him the opportunity to relieve himself in a nasty, but mostly functional bathroom. If Leorio got in a similar situation, he would be very vocal about it. He was always vocal about his needs.

What if the homunculi noticed the difference?

“I'll give you an hour, maybe two,” Kurapika said. “I'll share my knowledge as best as I can, but then I'll go back. I'll make Leorio share my body. We should hold out longer that way.”

Two hours in a healthy, well-fed body would have to be enough to recover. Maybe he could squeeze in a twenty minute nap.

If only he remembered more about what had happened prior to being stuffed in a cell.

They had caught him, they had put a sleep spell on him... and then he had woken up for a brief time. Kurapika had found himself strapped to a table, just in time to witness a tiny gremlin of a man chop off part of his finger. They hadn't done it to make him talk. They hadn't explained their actions at all and that was what scared him most. What could they possibly want with part of his pinky? What if this piece of his body was not enough and they came back to take him apart?

“We need to check all abandoned moonshine hotels and old hospitals equipped to treat werewolves. I'm sure I was in one of these.”

There couldn't have been too many of them, he hoped.

 

Leorio hadn't forgotten about the importance of _crafts_ when it came to 'witchcraft.' He had a limited knowledge of spells and knew even less how to align their purpose with the activity of creating something; he didn't even know how to create something in the first place. The most artistic thing he had ever done was paint another guy in black bruises in a bar fight and he was sure that this wouldn't quite do as the basis of a spell. Besides, his hands were tied to the wall with iron manacles. He had mapped the course and length of the chains with his fingers as best as he could.

He had orders to sit still and wait it out and so far this seemed the only option he had, really. But for all of his sweating out magic, the room had begun to positively stink of amniotic liquor, so much that it made Leorio gag. The kidnappers would know that something was up as soon as they stepped through the door.

If only he could _see_.

And no sooner had he thought of this when the room lit up with the gas light of a tiny nebula, specks of light spawning, swirling into wisps. At the same time, the room temperature rose to a cozy degree and his body stopped pouring out his potential.

“That was easy,” Leorio said and nearly spooked at the sound of his voice. This would take some getting used to.

He focused on the cell; its dimensions were similar to the projection Kurapika had shown him in his mind; there was a door of thick steel, naked concrete walls and floor. Leorio found himself kneeling on a mattress, a regular-sized one. In the far corner of the room lay a medicine ball, its thick cover picked apart by the teeth of a huge animal.

He paid that ball no mind; more important was the question how he had made light happen.

From a very young age, Leorio had learned and accepted that nothing became true just because you wished hard enough for it. Life didn't work that way and neither did magic. Right?

Kurapika had taught him about potentials, about how the point of crafting a spell was to translate the potential energy into spell energy, or else it would be transformed into heat. Heat, like the one pressing down humid on his skin. Spells were energy, so they had frequencies, and different mediums could pick them up really well or really shittily. That was why the type of yarn Kurapika used for knitting his spells had quite an impact on the result.

But air was a medium too. And water. Earth. Anything that could carry sound and vibration, those had frequencies too. Maybe he didn't need to learn how to papier maché or weave in order to make magic happen, as long as he was willing to burn up ten times more of his potential for a simple trick. 'Wishing hard enough' and 'using your imagination' worked when you moved in the astral layer, so it had to work for spells too, right? The dilemma was just that the cost to efficiency ratio was too high.

In other words, he had to be careful not to spend all of his energy on a few useless spells. He needed to sort out what was most important. Getting rid of the manacles. Finding a way out of the cell. Leorio stared at the thick, unyielding iron and got an idea. It was a stupid one, but it was an idea.

He started licking the chains.

 

**11**

 

A moonshine hotel used to be an establishment for werewolves, a place where they could spend their full moon transformation without fearing to hurt anyone during their animalistic days. They were anonymous and often doubled as dog hotels during the safe period of the moon cycle. They also slowly lost their purpose when one young ambitious alchemist found a way to break the werewolf curse.

There used to be five moonshine hotels in the city, and all of those had been repurposed. Three of them were turned into university dormitories, one became an actual hotel, and the last one was now a fetish club. But a bit of research revealed two hospitals that had offered similar services and that had been shut down due to lack of funding. Kurapika had studied the city map, looking for the tiniest hint of which one was the right one, but gave up quickly. None of these lines seemed to mean something, all of it was a blur – and it drove him up the walls because he could usually do this, he knew how to read a map, dammit. It was Leorio's brain that could not process the information he saw, much less filter out the important parts. He ate while he was brooding over the map. Nothing soothed the mind quite like good food; Kurapika spooned half a jar of thick creamy yogurt with honey and banana slices mixed in it and relished the taste. For once he didn't have to ration how much dairy he ate; that was the only positive aspect about this situation.

He had just washed it down with some coffee and was starting to devour some avocado toast with eggs, when Amane joined his side and asked if he could use another set of eyes.

“You don't have to be involved in this at all,” he said around a mouthful of food, for once not caring about manners.

“I have been given a task, I like to see it through. Besides... I didn't know what to do with myself,” she confessed.

Kurapika offered her half of his toast.

 

In the end, it was her who pointed out that one of the old hospitals was close to a mosque. Kurapika had been in captivity long enough that he should have heard the calls for the prayer. But he hadn't. There was still a small chance that he had simply been too isolated to hear it, so he would have preferred to split up if the size of their group had allowed it. But Chandni would not join them, and without her, Mizaistom was the only one with a driver's license. (Leorio had one, too, and Kurapika knew how to drive, but Mizaistom wouldn't let him, arguing that letting him behind a steering wheel was a recipe for disaster.)

He decided to call up Zepile, and station him and Melody at the less likely location, to watch the building. They were not supposed to enter; and if they saw anything suspicious going on, they received instructions to call up reinforcements immediately.

Mizaistom, Kurapika and Amane took the van, so that Kurapika could initiate a session on the spot. He found himself checking his image in the rearview mirror every odd minute, and each time he was caught unaware by Leorio's face, by the overwhelming need to have him close. He would run his hands over Leorio's arms over and over again, like he had done countless times when they had been curled up in bed together. The tiny drop of comfort he could gain from that was diluted in a sea of wanting and worrying. If Leorio died before he could get back into his body, Kurapika would have to wear his face for the rest of his own life.

He didn't want to think of that outcome; it was unacceptable. And yet his mind kept coming back to it until his chest ached and his breath came short.

 

**12**

 

Leorio put his hands on the spit-slick chains. He had spent half a lifetime imagining that everything he touched became corrupted and fell apart, and now he could finally put this to good use. Now he could cling to his old anxieties, conjure them in his mind in clear detail and turn them into reality.

Rust and corrosion spread under his fingers like a sickness, eating its way deep into the metal. Leorio stemmed Kurapika's leg against the wall and pushed all of his body weight against the chains. They tore with a clang; he nearly fell to the ground.

Leorio picked himself back up and then turned to the door next. This one would not be so easy – even if he managed to corrode the lock's mechanism, the door was already bolted and it had no handle or keyhole on the inside. He needed to break the bolt so the door would swing to the inside, but without a lever of some sort he would never put enough force on the bolt to break it unless it had really corroded to dust. But how could he get to that in the first place?

Leorio let out a huff of frustration. He let his eyes stray over the room again; nothing caught his attention, nothing but the fluorescent mist that hung in the air.

Perhaps a light source that was a little less over the place would be nice. Otherwise the one he already had would disperse the second he or one of the kidnappers opened the door. He almost welcomed one of them showing up; then at least he'd had a better idea of who he was dealing with. He should have asked Kurapika, before sending him away. Too late now, no reason to cry about it. He could do this either way; he was burning with vigor and had never felt more capable in his entire life.

Leorio reached out to where the light was most dense and imagined that it was a veil, sheer and near weightless, but something that had matter, something to hold on to – and when he swirled his hand just so, the light caught on it like spiderwebs. He kept twirling, spinning until he had a dense ball of light in his palm which smelled like hot coconut oil, like his old classroom, like the candles in Kurapika's bedroom.

Kurapika liked working with candles and oils. Leorio had watched him make flames dance over his knuckles while he explained that every alchemist had one element that he was more drawn to, that was easier for them to manipulate. _“It's a matter of personality,”_ he had said then. _“I have an affinity to fire, obviously. You... you strike me more like an air type. Because you get upset easily but you never hold grudges for long. Because you lift people up. And because you're warm and you're a crybaby. Warmth and wetness are the two attributes assigned with air, so there you have it.”_

Leorio had turned out to have a high affinity to earth. Earth was firm and reliable and nourishing. Hard to move but once it was in motion, it could develop terrifying force. He wondered if this could get him anywhere, when a key was turned in the lock.

Leorio steeled himself and pressed his light to his chest.

A girl entered, carrying a flashlight. She was about Kurapika's height and had something incredibly bookish about her entire appearance – her black hair was cut to a messy bob, her black eyes were half hidden by tiny round shades, her curves were covered by a black turtleneck which accentuated her chubbiness rather than smoothing it out or hiding it. She looked just like your average teenage wallflower and Leorio was at a loss. _This_ was the terrifying enemy he had to face? This was the offspring of dark magic and forbidden science?

“You're free,” the girl said matter-of-factly, just the merest hint of surprise swaying her voice.

“Shocking, isn't it.” He found it hard to look at her; she appeared like someone he was meant to protect and not fight.

“But I drained all your magic. How did you regenerate so fast?”

“That's an excellent question. Really, I wish I could answer it, but you know what they say about magicians and their tricks.”

“I don't,” she said, then sighed. “I guess I'll have to do it all over again.”

She stretched out her open hand towards Leorio. A mouth opened in her palm, dark as a bruise with rows of needle-sharp teeth and a fat purple tongue that rolled out and reached blindly towards him. He got sick thinking that this thing had touched Kurapika.

He threw his little ball of light out in reflex – the tongue darted forward and wrapped itself around the ball, pulling it hungrily inside of the mouth where it got stuck. The rows of teeth chomped and pulsed sickeningly and then it was gone.

The light still shone on. He could see it spread through her, making her skin translucent, until he could see every purple vein in her arm and every pale bone.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “That can't be good.”

Her bones were not the bones of a living person; they were scratched and sun-kissed and old; he was willing to bet if he cut them open, he would only find dry marrow in them. Leorio had been told that homunculi were manmade, that they were bodies that had been infused with a mind that didn't belong in them and were therefore more fragile than a human, easier to pry apart again. But he had still believed that they were _grown_ in one part, in a flask, in a walnut like Thumbelina – he hadn't expected that their creation included robbing graves and crudely patching pieces together.

The light traveled further up the girl's sleeve, into her chest and belly – and then she was engulfed and swallowed up by a single black flame.

Leorio took a few steps back, yelping with surprise.

Everything went dark; the flashlight fell with a clang, painting a white trapeze on the floor. Dust floated and danced in the beam. Leorio picked it up and shone it on the spot where the girl had stood. Every breath tasted like ash.

Only a pile of clothes remained of the homunculus, with crumbling bones sticking out of them in odd places and when he reached out to pick up her turtleneck, they turned to powder completely.

“Shit,” he whispered. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that.”

He took her key and the gold-rimmed shades too. Tucked them right on the collar of Kurapika's favorite pink sweater, because he could barely see anything as things were. He locked the cell behind him and began his search for an exit.

 

For a moment, Leorio forgot to worry about wasting his magic. His main concern was what it might do when he used it. The outcome seemed to be unpredictable. One moment it would bend to his every wish, the next one it would run rogue and cause havoc and destruction.

What he could not possibly know as he slipped through the labyrinth of his prison like a confused minotaur (because was he not half himself, half another being?) was that he was not bound by many rules, simply for never knowing them. Mankind invented words and with words they started to compel one another. Magic was a matter of imagination; and all the rules and guidelines existed solely to give it shape.

A wish had a power of its own but under normal circumstances it was too vague, too diffuse to become a spell. However, nothing about Leorio's circumstances was normal. Kurapika had tapped into Leorio's magic so often that his body recognized the energy running through it and it remembered Leorio's touch, remembered the joy and protectiveness Kurapika had felt whenever he was with Leorio. A body had a memory of its own and Kurapika's body embraced Leorio's mind tenderly, eagerly. It made his wishes reality because it loved him so much.

So when Leorio hoped to search his way out undisturbed, sneaking through dark corridors with one hand on the wall, Kurapika's fingertips sent a quiet vibration through the wall. Whispering to the other occupants of the house, convincing them that there was nothing to see where Leorio trod. They were no more aware of it happening than Leorio himself.

He was deep in the basement of the old hospital, and the only way to go was forward, into the morgue.

A soft light shone there; golden and inviting.

Leorio pushed himself off the wall and slipped carefully into the room.

A pair of eyes stared back at him.

He froze, his heart leapt up into his throat – the eyes kept staring ahead, milky and uncaring. They sat snug and comfortably in the sockets of a severed head in a jar like the world's most unappetizing pickled vegetables. All around him was death, displayed on the autopsy tables in bits and pieces. Here another arrangement of tired stolen bones, there more pickled organs: a giant strawberry of a heart, a cauliflower brain, two bean kidneys... and in the smallest jar, still pink with life, floated the digit of a finger he knew too well.

His stomach did a somersault.

Leorio noticed a book lying at the feet of the skeletal arrangement and since books usually meant answers, he checked it out. The mere sight of this small black tome made his skin crawl for reasons that had nothing to do with the bloody handprint pressed on the cover. He hid his hands in the sleeves of his pink sweater so he wouldn't have to touch the pages with his unprotected skin and pried it open at a random page.

The words were written in a language he did not understand and yet they burned his eyes and let his blood run cold. The pages held tables, drawings of body parts, sketches of alchemical symbols and circles, more anatomical drawings... it was like he had stumbled upon Frankenstein's diary.

Leorio put on the glasses he had found, half hoping they could make his eyes hurt less. Immediately, the world's colors were filtered out, but he could see sharper. And he could see a faint miasma oozing out of the pages. Yep, that surely was no friendly kind of magic.

They were planning to make another one of their kind, by the looks of it. And it just occurred to him that this required stealing a human soul. _Kurapika's_ soul.

He wriggled out of his sweater and wrapped it around the book because like hell he was going to let that happen. He would have to take the missing fingertip too; he didn't feel safe leaving just the tiniest part of Kurapika in the hands of these people.

He heard heels clicking on the gray concrete floor. Approaching.

Leorio dripped nasty smelling fluid everywhere as he plunged his hand into the jar and fished out the pinky fragment, slipped it into his pocket. He made a dash for the elevator door. He jabbed his finger on the button three times before he realized that the elevator had no power. Of course. There seemed to be no power in the entire damn building. _Fuck_.

“Open,” he begged, pressing his palm against the unyielding metal. “Please, just fucking open up–”

Muffled voices, at least two people. He couldn't make out the words yet.

“ _Open,_ ” Leorio tried again, this time remembering to put intent into every syllable. He could feel the energy pooling out of him again, could see it ripple on the doors' surface. They slid apart just enough for a slender person to squeeze through. Beyond, there was nothing but blackness. Leorio shoved the book through first; he could hear it fall and land with a low thud. Of course, it had been too much to hope for that the elevator had been down in the morgue when the power went off.

Not that he had time to mope, because he could already hear a door handle being pushed – he swung his legs over the ledge. And down the rabbit hole he went.

He turned off his flashlight and hid in the nearest corner.

Leorio compelled himself to breathe as quietly as possible, to make himself flat and tiny. The walls smelled pleasantly like wet bricks and cold soil; he dug his fingers in it. Dirt crumbled away and pooled around his shoes.

Voices floated in and bounced off the wall, talking idly about arm-wrestling when they were cut off by a swear.

“Who the fuck–”

Someone stomped to the lift shaft. The golden strip of candlelight pouring in from the morgue shrank. In its stead, a white circle started to dance and search over the walls.

Leorio wanted to disappear. Or become invisible. He sucked in his belly and held his breath as if it could help. The circle of light traveled lower and lower, until it hit the ground. It froze right over Kurapika's sweater and the black journal inside of it.

“That bastard. He tried to take the book.”

“Forget the book,” a woman answered.

“Forget the book? It belonged to the boss.”

“I know, Phinks. I'm not saying we should just leave it there, but can we focus on not letting that kid escape first? And we need to find Shizuku, she was probably the last one to cross his path.”

“Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_.” Phinks started to wiggle his flashlight wildly about and Leorio really thought he was done for– but then the guy stepped away from the elevator. “I'll go look for Shizuku, you warn the others that we have a peacock on the loose. And we should get Feitan, he might actually be tiny enough to fit through this gap.”

“They can't have gotten far, there should be no magic left in their body,” the woman remarked.

He grunted his acknowledgment. And, in a violent fit, slammed his fist against the half-open elevator door so hard that the metal screeched with protest. Leorio wanted to screech too.

“Hey, asshole.” Phinks shouted at the top of his lungs; his voice spiralled up the shaft. “Don't get too hopeful. We'll find you and then we'll skin you alive and if we have to search this building brick by brick.”

“Charming, Phinks. I'm sure that will change their mind about running away,” the woman remarked smoothly.

“We want 'em scared, Paku, because scared people make mistakes.”

“Oh? How often are you scared then, hm?”

“Shut up.”

They fell quiet.

Leorio listened eagerly to their footsteps, which trailed off in different directions, but it didn't mean that he would be safe, not even for one moment. It wouldn't take them long to find what was left of their friend and then they would kill him on the spot when they found him. Or nearly kill him, if they needed him alive for their ritual. He had no map of this place and the homunculi would start pacing through every corridor, search every nook and cranny for him. He wouldn't be surprised if they went as far as barring the exits.

He wanted to pick the book back up but then he would give away that he had been in the shaft much more recently than they assumed. For the first time, his confidence wavered. The worst thing was, he couldn't even estimate how much magic he had left to spend. He had maneuvered himself into a dead end.

_'Not quite yet,'_ Kurapika's voice echoed through him. Leorio was trying to figure out if it was real or a figment of his imagination, when he felt Kurapika settle in and stretch out, a tingle racing through every nerve.

“You’re back! Why did you come back?”

_‘Did you think for even one minute you would get away with ushering me to safety? At your own expense?’_ Kurapika nudged and pried through Leorio's memory in a manner that was both irritating and exciting. _'Is that my finger in your pocket?'_ he asked.

“Sorry,” Leorio whispered. “I didn't want to leave anything of you behind.”

_'Thank you. If they really plan to make another of their own like you suspect, then they probably took it as a sample, to see if my body is suited for their experiment. We should definitely take the book and use it as a pawn for our lives in case we get caught.'_

“They will come back down here in a few minutes,” Leorio pressed. But he slipped out of his corner and picked up the bundle regardless. He hoped that Kurapika had brought a map and a plan.

_'Maybe you should stop using your mouth to talk. And take off these ridiculous glasses, no matter how interesting they are.’_

Leorio complied, begrudgingly. He was starting to like these glasses. And they were useful, if they actually allowed you to peek into the spirit layer. They just weren’t much use right now. He slipped them in his back pocket.

_‘We found a map, yes. Mizai and I, I mean. He's outside of the building, keeping watch. But you were supposed to stay put until we arrived. Now our captors are alerted, that makes fleeing a bit difficult.'_

_'The shaft,'_ Leorio suggested. Every elevator had an emergency ladder. And if they got up high enough by the time the homunculi tried to retrieve their book...

_'They will have someone on the rooftop, I bet. And even if not, where would we go from there? No, we have better chances on the first floor because we could use any window to escape. So we might as well take the stairs.'_

_'Won't the first floor be guarded extra hard because of that?'_

_'This is likely, yes. I wish there was a way for both of us to be in charge. I'm near spent and you are lacking experience, but together we could take up any number of opponents. I could teach you a disassembling spell that would work against them, but considering how fast you burn through your potential, we could only risk meeting one of them. Two, at a maximum. Unless we play it safe and hide instead of seeking confrontation.'_

_'Where?' There seemed nowhere to go. The dead people lockers in the morgue maybe, but if someone actually bothered to check them, there was no way of escaping._

_'In the ground, like cicadas. Dig deep enough so they won't find us. Dig wide enough so you have air to breathe for a few hours. And then I'll teach you how to sleep. There's a spell called Snow White's Dream. Just let me slip back out before you use it and I will tell Mizaistom about it. We will rat the homunculi out and then come for you.'_

_'But that's not what you really want us to do,'_ Leorio said. He could feel Kurapika's dissatisfaction. His hunger. He was not content with that solution and would never be. He wanted to crush the homunculi like vermin, for what they had done. He wanted to smoke them out. He wanted to–

They both thought of the flickering candles in the morgue at the same time; the unison of their epiphany struck through them like a tingling chord.

_Burn it to the ground._

 

**13**

 

Kurapika picked up a candle and held it close to the biggest jar. He hummed some encouragement to the flame and it lingered, then jumped over to the pool of preservative liquid and spread, wild and green.

Kurapika was more than satisfied with this.

He smashed the other jars on the floor, just toppled them over and watch them burst and spread their content wide. The green flame crackled excitedly.

Fire was always hungry, always ready to play.

It was the most unpredictable of the elemental forces; you did not manipulate it, you invited it. Fire expected to be charmed, courted and respected and then maybe it was so kind to not gobble you up when it could. Kurapika relied on the likeness of their nature when he persuaded it to move the way he wanted. He also relied on bribing it with a sacrifice. Usually he picked blood. This time, he offered it the part of his finger that was missing.

He picked up the burning jar and held it at arm’s length. Respect always required distance. He stopped in the threshold and looked back on the stage he had set. Holding a hand over the fire so low its heat could bite his skin, he asked, no, he _dared_ the fire.

Thus spoke the alchemist: _Catch me if you can_.

He threw the jar and did not stay to watch the flames grow and gather strength, shape tendrils of smoke that sought and followed his every step.

 

Kurapika ran impulsively, his mind grasping desperately for a map of the building he had been able to memorize only in fragments and as he did so, he slowly handed the reins back to Leorio, as he was stronger and quicker to push any obstacle out of their way where Kurapika would have stopped to estimate the threat.

He punched open doors if he had to.

Behind them, the flames crept up the walls as quick as befits a predator, trying to race ahead.

Fire was competitive. And fire did not like to be stopped once it had set its mind to a task. So when the first homunculi stumbled into their way (sad creatures, one of them barely more than skin and bones and dirty gauze, the other a bug-eyed child hidden under a curtain of gray hair), the flames reached ahead, plucked them right out of the path and devoured them.

You shouldn’t play with fire. It always cheats.

 

**14**

 

The first thing Mizaistom noticed was a plume of smoke.

Reinforcement was still too far away at this point; it had cost him quite some time to state his case to his subordinates. Time was a thing Mizaistom had plenty of, that very moment. But Kurapika and Leorio? Not so much.

He could smell the heat and destruction in the air.

Glass broke as the inhabitants of the old hospital made their exit, scattering in every direction to make it harder to pursue them. Mizaistom let them flee. He was meant to stay, come hell or high water.

Hell came.

It grew in the shape of a blazing green flower, with thick vines of flames that pushed through the windows and crawled up, up, up, scorching all that they touched. They swallowed the entire facade, safe for the main entrance. As the fire roared triumphant, Mizaistom waited still. Marveling, but not wondering. Slightly discouraged, but not surprised.

And finally, Kurapika tumbled out of the building, jumping down the stairs, looking for all the world like a boy fleeing from a dragon’s den, a little short of breath, a little singed around the edges, but still whole and triumphant.

While the fire still celebrated the win of their race, he beamed brightly and presented his bounty, wrapped in pink wool and stinking so positively like corruption and slowly decomposing protective spells, that Mizaistom rather had dropped it. He would have preferred an explanation.

“Whatever happened to ‘get out as quick as possible’? What’s gotten into you?”

“Technically speaking? Leorio. Leorio is what got into me.”

“I– okay? Where are you going?”

Kurapika waved casually as he walked by. Leorio had the weirdest influence, but Mizaistom was not complaining.

“I’m going to sleep. Please wake me in a few days if I didn’t get up by then.”

Kurapika opened the back doors of the van and smiled down on Leorio’s unmoving figure. He laid down beside him, wrapping himself up with and rested his head on Leorio’s shoulder.

_‘You’re so embarrassing when you can’t act all cool,’_ Leorio said fondly.

“Oh, really?” Kurapika plucked the glasses out of his pockets and perched them high on Leorio’s nose. If he liked them so much, he should be the one wearing them. “Who’s embarrassing now?”

_‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, I look sharp as fuck.’_

“If you think so,” Kurapika teased, running his finger over the slope of Leorio’s nose until he reached its pointy tip. He kissed his boyfriend’s strong jaw and settled for sleep.

_‘You’re not going to kick me out?’_ , Leorio asked softly, gently. His mind caressed Kurapika’s, tucked away some overly complicated concerns and estimations about the stir their careless actions might cause in the Order.

_‘Go, if you want to go. I’m sure you can just slip into your own body if you want to.’_

Leorio made no attempt to struggle free and on second thought–

_‘Stay, if you want to stay. You feel so nice. Won’t you dream with me?’_

 

There were quieter days waiting for them ahead and quiet days had to be greeted just so: quietly. Solemnly. They fell asleep, minds all tangled up in one another, blissfully united in a way that few lovers got to share.

 


End file.
